


In White

by ndnickerson



Series: Mail Order Bride [2]
Category: Nancy Drew - Keene
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-24
Updated: 2009-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-05 05:50:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 100,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/38435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ndnickerson/pseuds/ndnickerson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nancy tries to adjust to her newly domestic life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Nancy took off the nightgown and carefully folded it, slipped it back into the bag, and put it away. She changed into a peach set trimmed in antique lace, spaghetti strap camisole and silk shorts, and walked back downstairs, her polished toenails gleaming against the carpet. Distracted, she checked the front and back door locks and peered through the front windows, into the darkness. Ned's Jaguar was still not there.

 

She put on the first CD off the stack in the living room and headed back to the kitchen table. Her papers were spread all over it, phone records of a conversation she only suspected had happened. She uncapped her highlighter and swept back her hair, which now fell past her shoulder blades, and set back to work.

 

Thirty minutes later she cast an annoyed glance at the clock on the microwave. "He knows he needs to be awake in the morning," she muttered. She kept up the appearance a few minutes more, then peered through the front blinds again right before the phone rang.

 

She picked it up and swept her hair over her other shoulder, walked back toward the kitchen. "Hello?"

 

"Nan?"

 

"Where are you?"

 

Ned cleared his throat. "I need you to pick me up."

 

\--

 

She recognized a lot of the same people from poker nights at their house. Faces smiling up at her, lifting beers, asking her to get a drink for herself. She pulled the beige trenchcoat tighter around her and lifted her chin when she found the most familiar face.

 

He was grinning. His collar was unbuttoned, tie loosened, his suit coat folded over his arm. Saying goodbye to the guys at his table, lifting his voice to be heard over the music.

 

She smiled up at him when he reached her side, then pulled on his tie so he'd lean over to her smiling lips. "Give me your keys," she murmured, keeping the smile on her face.

 

He found them as he walked out of the bar with her and dropped them into her open palm. "Thanks," he said.

 

She turned the air on full blast and shifted the car into gear, and Ned fell back against the seat with the force of her acceleration. "Um... I'm sorry."

 

She shook her head, the coat falling open to reveal the silk beneath. "Hey, you don't need to be."

 

"You didn't need to come out here. You could have just told me to get a taxi."

 

She glanced over at him. "I could have," she said. "But I wasn't sure I could spend another minute alone in the house."

 

He squinted through the windshield, into the darkness. He opened his mouth and then closed it again, thinking better of saying anything.

 

"You were waiting up for me?"

 

"Even packed a suitcase for you."

 

He couldn't read her tone. "Why didn't you call me?"

 

"Because you're a big boy."

 

"And you're a big girl who decided to prove she didn't need to call me?" He reached for her hand. "I would have come straight home."

 

"We'll never know."

 

"I would have." His voice was hard. "Dammit."

 

They walked into the house. Ned headed upstairs immediately, Nancy sat down at the kitchen table and started going back through her phone records with the highlighter. After a few minutes she glanced back at the stairs and took her coat off. Her mouth was tight as the floorboards creaked above her head.

 

Ned came back downstairs and she didn't turn her head, but she caught sight of him in her peripheral vision, wearing black boxers. He came up behind her and she felt his hands resting on the back of her chair as he looked at the papers on their table.

 

"So what's this?" His voice was rough, but conciliatory.

 

She explained, and halfway through her explanation his hands moved to rest lightly on her shoulders. He started kneading them and she let her head drop down and her body slump against the table.

 

"You need to get some sleep," she mumbled to him.

 

"Come to bed with me."

 

\--

 

He pinned her between his body and the wrought-iron footboard of their bed, and watched her gasp, watched her flesh tighten at the cold. She wrapped her hands around a bar and supported her weight as she opened her legs and knelt over him. He rested his hands lightly on her hips but didn't apply any pressure as she leaned forward and took his erection into her hands, and he felt her exhale against his skin as she pushed herself up. She traced the tip of him over her clit and they both sighed audibly, her breath trembling. She stroked him over her a few more times, then lower over her lips, then deeper between her thighs. Her moan was lost in his as she slid away from him and touched his newly wet skin to her clit again.

 

"Touch me," she whispered, and he cupped her breasts in his hands, feeling her muscles clench as he stroked his thumbs over her nipples. She groaned and matched the rhythm of his fingers with the rhythm of her stroking, until he could feel her start to shake. Then she pressed herself nearly against him, her hair falling in his face, and mounted him.

 

She cried out and he forced himself not to move, just to watch her as she rose and fell against him, her wet skin stroking his erection, her face contorting in pleasure. "Oh my God, oh my God," she sobbed, between gasps, and when she pressed her face into his shoulder he could feel her screams building. He caught her when her face was above his and she kissed him quickly, violently, their mouths slowing to motionless touch, their nerves screaming as she lowered herself again.

 

When she only kept going, without finding her release, he took her hand in both of his and led it down to where their bodies were joined. "Show me how to make you come," he whispered between gasps, listening to her ragged breath.

 

She nodded, swallowing, and lifted her hips until they were apart, then led his fingers to trace her wet skin, then up to her clit. She cupped her hand around his, her finger leading his thumb as she lowered her hips again and he followed her lead, stroking her faster and faster as she rode him again. She threw her head back, gasping for breath between screams, and when he felt the first clench of her inner flesh against him he leaned back and shifted her so he could lower her to her back on the bed.

 

"Please," she whispered, her fingers twitching as he lifted her legs and let them fold over his shoulders. He took her hips in his hands and slid inside her again, then stroked the tip of her clit with his thumbnail. She screamed as he thrust with her orgasm, and he was shaking as her muscles tightened and released around him. When his thumb twitched over her clit she opened her eyes wide, one last spasm enfolding him. He released then, and they both groaned as he slid out of her.

 

"I should have made you sleep," she murmured as her legs fell from his shoulders and they pulled apart. "But, oh my God..."

 

"I can sleep on the plane," he said. "I can't get that on the plane."

 

\--

 

She flashed her FBI badge at the security guard and he let her pass, her heels clicking on the floor, her hair loose and tumbling past her shoulders. The hallway to his cell was a depressing shade of gunmetal grey.

 

He was waiting on the lower bunk when she turned on her heel and slowly let herself meet his eyes. Chocolate brown eyes. Long lashes.

 

She felt a familiar warm rush in her belly.

 

"I didn't expect to see you here," he said, and even now there was a touch of humor in his voice. Even now. Her heel rasped across the concrete floor as the soles of her shoes slid closer, toward him.

 

"I didn't expect it either," she said, her voice toneless.

 

"And yet, here you are."

 

"Here I am," she agreed. She lifted a hand and rested a finger on the barrier between them.

 

"So you're FBI now." He nodded at the badge resting on her coat.

 

She looked down, following his gaze, and then met his eyes again. Unwilling. "I am."

 

"Isn't this violating the restraining order you had put in place against me?" He gestured between them.

 

She raised an eyebrow. "You know about that?"

 

He smiled, slow, feral, and she felt her heart clench a bit more tightly, saw the edges of her vision throb with her quickened pulse. "I know he had a security system installed to keep you feeling safe," Jean said. "I know that a week later you figured out how to disarm it and he found you in the panic room, door bolted and shaking on the floor. I know sometimes when he's inside you, you see my face, because you've started remembering."

 

Nancy shook her head. "No."

 

Jean lifted himself off the bed, his gaze never breaking from hers. "Do you remember the weeks you spent with me? You didn't fight it. You wanted it."

 

Her voice shook. "No."

 

He deliberately trailed his gaze down, down below her navel. And, incredulous, she felt her body answer the promise implicit in his glance. With an effort she cleared her throat, fighting the urge to tug her jacket down and block his vision.

 

"Don't tell me" Jean's voice dropped "that he's better than I am in bed." He glanced over at her hand. "What, you've given up the ring? I thought that was how he brought you back to him."

 

She looked down and her hand was ringless. No diamond, no wedding band.

 

"You're still mine," Jean continued. Her startled eyes returned to him, and she watched him unbutton his jumpsuit, almost hungrily. "He might have been able to put a ring on you but he can't change the ink I had drawn onto your skin." He pulled back the fabric and revealed a larger version of the flowers she had found scarred into her hip, there on his own.

 

"It's not there anymore," she said to him, defiantly, and drew her skirt up so he could see her tattoo, unmindful of the black lace thigh-highs and garters she was exposing. The hairs on her limbs and the back of her neck stood on end as she felt his gaze on her bare skin.

 

"You had it covered up," he said softly. "But I can still see it there. I told you. You were right to leave him the first time," he said, his eyes meeting hers again. "You coveted me from the first time you saw me, and I wanted you the first time I saw you. You're just trying to hide what you are, what you want." He nodded at her hip and she dropped her skirt back into place, a shudder creeping over her.

 

"He wasn't good enough for you then, that apartment... I gave you what you wanted, Nancy. Gave you everything. Right now we could be there on the island, where I promised to take you. Where you wouldn't be mine for only a week out of the year."

 

"No."

 

"Where we could be together right now." He stepped completely out of his jumpsuit, and God help her, she could remember the way the light would fall over his skin, the way it would smell, the way he would taste...

 

"Shut up!" she screamed, half turning away from him. "He loves me. You never did."

 

"You'll never know that while there are bars between us," he said, and she could feel it by slow degrees, pulling her back as she tried to stare at everything, anything else, anything other than him. The promise of power and violence in his taut, gleaming muscles. Her mouth opened slightly. "You'll never let yourself know what might have been, what could be again."

 

The guard sounded the buzzer

 

 

 

but the buzzer was Ned's alarm, which he slapped. He mumbled something which turned content as he settled back against her.

 

She let herself linger there, below his arm, in the warm nest of sheets. Letting her heart slow as she realized that it had all been a dream, that she hadn't gone to see him.

 

She shivered slightly as she felt Ned's fingertips slide over her hip, and she was aware of his erection pressing into the small of her back. She knew what would come next, but that didn't stop the warm flush from spreading over her skin as his fingers trailed down to just below her navel. There was a time when he had asked aloud, but now the question was reduced to his fingers and her response.

 

She rolled over onto her back and opened her legs, and he leaned down over her, closed his mouth over one of her breasts and ran his tongue over the tip of her nipple a few times. His fingers stroked down over her thigh and then dipped inside, and he murmured in pleasant surprise at finding her ready. He pulled back and took her hips into his hands, folding her unresisting legs around his waist as he sank inside her. She sighed and put her arms around him, holding him tight as his weight pressed her into the mattress, his hips grinding into hers.

 

For a second she saw Jean's face again.

 

She opened her mouth, her eyes filling. He moved inside her and she forced herself to gasp his name instead of scream it in terror, forced herself to move underneath him, but she couldn't release her arms from around him. She felt him gasp above her and she dug her nails into his back, praying for it, tilting her hips back a little. And then she felt it begin as she tightened her legs around his waist, she knew he could feel it too as the tide rose over her and washed everything else away.

 

Afterward he tried to pull away from her, but she didn't release him. "Hey," he whispered, sliding out of her and running a hand over her hair. "Are you all right?"

 

She opened her eyes and sipped in a long breath, and then the mask was back in place. "Yeah," she said, smiling. "Great."

 

"Okay," he said dubiously. "I have to take a shower."

 

"I'll take one too," she said, careful to not make it too eager.

 

"You sure? You could get some more sleep." He stroked a hair out of her face again.

 

"After that?" she laughed. "I have a few things to take care of before George gets here, anyway."

 

He leaned down and rubbed the tip of his nose over hers. "I love you," he murmured. "I'm going to miss you."

 

"I love you too," she said, and she was unable to do it this time, unable to keep it casual. "And I'm going to miss you so much..."

 

He took her in his arms and rocked her back and forth slightly as she buried her face against his chest. "Hey," he whispered. "It's gonna be all right."

 

She pulled back and forced a smile. "I know," she murmured. "Though I don't know if I can last a week without you in bed. Maybe I can rent a husband to keep me satisfied until you get back," she laughed weakly.

 

"Phone sex," he told her sternly, a smile in his eyes.

 

\--

 

For the eight hours she was alone between, through the task force meeting and phone canvas and digging in the basement for a file, she forced herself to daydream about the pregnancy test she bought over her lunch break. The early warning one promised to tell her what she needed to know, that for the nearly six months they'd been trying this was it.

 

If not, then maybe her dream, it was only a dream, had just been brought on by hormones and mood swings and the egg roll she had eaten with dinner the night before. She refused to believe anything else; it had all been a dream, she hadn't been in control of what she was doing, because she knew that if she had the first thing she would have done was run away.

 

She didn't think about Jean when Ned was in bed with her. If anything, Ned was a distraction from thoughts of Jean, not the other way around.

 

Because that was one thing she couldn't control.

 

Despite their optimism on their honeymoon, Jean had indeed followed them. She had started remembering, outside the sessions, while at work, while at the grocery store, almost anywhere. Before the memories even started playing in her head she would start to hyperventilate, and unless she did something they would begin.

 

Something was what she had to do when Ned wasn't around. She had tried to hide it from Ned, despite the warning of her therapist. To admit it, she had felt, was not so much a failure in herself as a failure to trust what they had said was true, that Jean had no place in their house.

 

"If I tell him he'll just be disappointed and hurt and upset, and if I can just get past this—"

 

"Do you realize he's going to feel those things when he finds out you've kept this from him?"

 

"But you're not going to tell him, are you?" she'd asked her therapist.

 

Dr Strathman sighed. "No," he responded. "That's up to you. All I can tell you is that your putting this off..."

 

"I don't want to be running away from him the rest of my life," Nancy replied.

 

"It hasn't even been a year."

 

Nancy grinned. "So it'll only be what, four more years to get over it?"

 

"It might be longer than that if you can't even tell your own husband what's going on."

 

She looked down at her hands. "He didn't sign up for this. And I don't want to be broken the rest of my life."

 

"Has he said that, that he doesn't want to be with you if it takes you a while to get over this?"

 

"Quite the opposite." She drew a breath. "He said what it took to get me back. And I'm sure he meant every word of it. But I think about how it must feel to him. And I can't say that I'd have the patience to do it, if I were him."

 

"Why is that?"

 

Nancy shook her head. "I don't know," she replied. "I must have done something that made Jean think it was okay to do that to me. Something that made me deserve it. And I don't deserve-he doesn't need to wait around for me to be whole again. He doesn't need to know. Because it will only be for a little while, I know, you can give me a pill or a hypnotic session and it will be all better again. I'll be all better again."

 

"When was the last time you felt... whole?"

 

"You mean... not broken?" He nodded. "Before I ever met Jean. Before then. I felt so restless after I left Ned—after I left him for Jean." She laughed, and the sound was bitter.

 

"You didn't leave him for Jean."

 

"I just didn't know I had."

 

"How has your sex life been?"

 

She shrugged. "Normal. Nothing unusual."

 

"Have you experienced any change in your feelings over it? Are you resistant where you weren't before, or maybe initiating more?"

 

She looked away, then said calmly, "No. I'm not, he's not."

 

"Are you afraid that if you told him what you're experiencing, that he would... hurt you again?"

 

"No. I'm not afraid of him. That was a one time thing, he swore he'd never do it again, and I believe him. A lot of time has passed, a lot of things have happened since then."

 

"If Ned were in a terrible accident, and the doctors were pretty sure he would be able to walk again but only after a lot of hard work, would you leave him?"

 

Nancy sat up straighter in her chair. "No. Of course not."

 

"What if he decided that he'd only use crutches when he wasn't around you, tried to be strong when he was around you so you wouldn't know he was still hurting?"

 

"I'm not hurting," Nancy said. "I'm just... I don't know what it is but it's not hurt."

 

"You hyperventilate, your heart races, you break out in a cold sweat, and you stop seeing what's around you. The things you see in your head, you can't control. It's very possible they are memories," Dr Strathman said. "Brought on by the regression I did for the trial. If Ned were stumbling around without his crutches, without even asking for your help, you'd say he was an idiot."

 

Nancy half-smiled. "Am I being an idiot?"

 

"You wouldn't have the patience for or tolerate this behavior in him, because you're his wife and you love him. And you have no right to blame yourself or say you were responsible for what Jean did to you, any more than you'd be responsible if you were walking on the side of the road and a car hit you."

 

"It was my choice to go walking there."

 

Ned had been with her the next time it had happened. They were in the frozen foods section of the grocery store when she had sucked in a sudden breath, and he had been looking directly at her, asking which sour cream she wanted.

 

"Nan?"

 

He had seen the expression on her face, she couldn't hide it. The terror was filling her brain like black ink, black, the room—

 

"Talk to me," she gasped, feeling his hand on hers. "Talk to me about something."

 

"Like what?" His eyes were wide. "Like sour cream?"

 

"Anything," she said, panic rising in her voice.

 

"I was wondering if you'd want to go with fat free since you tend to like that, but we're probably going to use it on potato skins on poker night and the guys don't really care about fat free."

 

"What night is poker night this week?"

 

"The usual, it's Thursday." He had taken her into his arms and was whispering into her ear, his hand stroking up and down her back. "Nan, it's all right. What's going on?"

 

She closed her eyes, feeling them well up with tears, holding onto the trembling that had skated down her spine when his breath had touched her skin. Holding onto what was happening instead of what had happened, behind that heavy locked door in her head.

 

"Hey," he whispered.

 

She opened her eyes. "Okay," she said. She reached up to wipe her eyes and he was staring at her. "I'm all right."

 

\--

 

So he knew about the... whatever they were. Waking dreams, repressed memories. She had never experienced one in their house with Ned. With him, in his bed, she was safe. When they were out, elsewhere, and it happened, all he had to do was touch her, take her in his arms, and she was fine again.

 

And he had been hurt that she hadn't told him, even as she told him all the reasons why she'd kept it secret from him she'd seen the pain in his eyes, the way he didn't understand why she hadn't wanted him to even help with this. He'd said that her problems were his now, that he'd sworn to stand by her even if she never could overcome what had happened to her. He knew everything the shrink was saying to her. He knew how she felt about what had happened, that she had somehow caused it, that she was responsible. That she didn't deserve any help because no one other than she had been responsible.

 

"Are you going to punish me?" she'd asked.

 

"You don't mean this in some weird sex fantasy way, do you?" he'd asked. "I think you've punished yourself enough for both of us. And you know you shouldn't have. You know he picked you out because of what he was, not what you are."

 

"But—"

 

"There are no buts. No excuses." He kissed her. "Shut up about it or I will punish you."

 

She was sure the dream was just a dream and nothing she needed to talk to him about. It wasn't a memory. In fact, she never dreamt about what she remembered, during the terrible time between being sucked behind the heavy locked door and when she found someone to drag her back. And she had had nightmares about Jean before, this was just another one.

 

She heard George's steps on the stairs and brushed her hair back. She had changed into a long sleeved henley and a pair of loose jeans after work, and now she pulled the sleeves down below the heels of her hands and stared at her purse. It was still sitting on the kitchen countertop and within it, in a crinkling white paper bag, along with a bottle of aspirin to help with the results, was the pregnancy test.

 

She was late, by barely twelve hours, but she was.

 

"All settled in?" she asked George, who nodded.

 

"I like your guest room," she said. "So, what are you up for? Movie marathon, maybe a little of me kicking your butt at some video game? Inviting Bess over and braiding each other's hair?"

 

Nancy smiled. "We're gonna hang out with Bess tomorrow night. She has a babysitter then."

 

"She's put enough toys in your nursery that they could practically babysit themselves."

 

"I know." Nancy laughed. "Now she's talking about turning her back porch into a playroom."

 

She ended up turning on some music, and she and George set to work in the kitchen. While they waited for a chicken to roast George taught her a new card game.

 

"We should do couples poker night again," George said. "That was fun."

 

"Yeah," Nancy sighed. "Last time they did it, I was upstairs in the study while someone spilled an entire glass of red wine on the carpet. Ned was so afraid of what I'd do that he went out immediately and rented a steam cleaner."

 

George had been looking at the carpet. "Good for him," she said. "I can't even see a mark down there. So did you ban poker night after that?"

 

Nancy shook her head. "I'd never do that."

 

George tilted her head. "Didn't you want to?"

 

Nancy smiled. "He likes getting together with his buddies. And they're not bad guys, but at least if they're here they won't be going out to a strip club or getting arrested in some bar. And we call them cabs if they can't drive home after."

 

"You think Ned would go to a strip club?"

 

"No," Nancy replied slowly. "I think he might go to a bar and get drunk with his buddies and one of them might suggest it, and he might end up there. And then I think he'd come home and tell me what had happened and promise to me that it wouldn't happen again."

 

"So it hasn't happened yet."

 

"I'm not saying it ever will. I think it could happen that way. I'd rather it never happen, and if that means being sequestered upstairs once a week and then having really good sex as his apology, I'll take it."

 

\--

 

She woke up in the middle of the night and went to the bathroom, bleary eyed, staring at the test box she'd put on her bathroom sink as a reminder to take it first thing in the morning. She suddenly felt her stomach clench, and she tried to remember what they had eaten for dinner, in case it could have been bad.

 

Then she saw the blood on the tissue.

 

"Oh God," she whispered, rocking back and forth. "Oh God."

 

\--

 

"You can stop buying the tests," Jean said. "You can stop monitoring your temperature and buying cute little outfits to wear for him. You can't have his child."

 

She was sitting on the cold concrete floor, back against the opposite wall, legs drawn up to her chin, hugging them closer to her body. Her hair was loose again, and she was in pants now, so her pose was not provocative. He was dressed again, sprawled on his stomach on the lower bunk, propping his chin up to look at her. "Why?" she asked.

 

"Because I broke you," Jean said. "You're cracked, you will hold nothing. I'm the only one who can fix you."

 

"I hold him."

 

"You hold him like a sieve holds water. It all drains out. He can give you everything he has but it won't be enough to seal up the scars I left in you."

 

She shook her head, slowly. "I'm so tired," she whispered.

 

"You're tired because he passes through you. It takes so much out of him to fill you up again every day. One day he will find someone who can do what you can't, who doesn't have me to distract her."

 

"He loves me," she said. "You don't love me. You don't understand what it's like, you don't know what you're talking about."

 

"You don't need love," he said. He rose off the bed and sat down facing her, against the barrier of his cell. His legs were folded in front of him, and as his fingers stroked down the wall between them, she followed the movement without conscious decision to do so, without thought. "You need someone to need you, not the other way around. You need me to fill the holes inside you, the empty places, the broken places. The parts of you you've had to hide behind that door, the parts that scare you so badly you can't even breathe. I'm there, behind that door. I'm behind that room, I'm in every single part of it, I'm part of you now. To be with him you have to hide what I made you."

 

"No," she mouthed.

 

"What I can make you again. What you can become. You wanted to belong to me so badly," he said. "You wanted me to take you to the island. You wanted no way to hide from it."

 

"No."

 

"You're afraid of what you feel for me. It's that strong. You can feel it now." He slid his fingers down again and she followed again, mesmerized.

 

"I don't," she said, and she leaned forward, onto all fours, and crawled toward him. Their bent knees would have touched if they had moved the last inch.

 

"You want me."

 

"I want my husband," she whispered, and a tear traced down her cheek.

 

"He wants a child but he can't make one with you. He'll figure that out."

 

"Why?" she asked. "Tell me why."

 

"Because you carried my child," he said. His eyes were glowing. "I had to stop it; things weren't ready yet, I wasn't prepared to have you all to myself yet."

 

"You're lying." Nancy was shaking.

 

"I had to kill our child, and it killed me to do it."

 

"You didn't," she said. "No. I was on birth control. Every time. Every time."

 

"A week with me, and you conceive. This much time with him and still you bleed?"

 

\--

 

She woke up crying. Quietly, though, because George wasn't too far away, even through the closed door. Nancy's bear was on the other side of the bed, looking lonely. She looked over at her cell phone and before she could think better of it, she punched in the numbers.

 

"Good morning," Ned answered the phone. "Did you call for the phone sex?"

 

"No," she replied. Then she sniffed, and rolled out of bed looking for a kleenex. "I just wanted to hear your voice."

 

"Hang on a sec," he said, and a minute later the background noise dwindled. "Are you all right?"

 

"Yeah," she said. "I just had a nightmare."

 

"Is George there? Can you talk to her about it?"

 

"I don't want to wake her up."

 

"Do you want me to come home early?"

 

"No," she responded, wishing he would say he would. "It was just a nightmare. Nothing's wrong. I'll be fine. I'll just go downstairs and make some breakfast, and I'll feel better."

 

"Did you have a nightmare before I left, too?"

 

She paused. "Yeah."

 

"Same one?"

 

Not really. "No, it wasn't the same."

 

"You're gonna go see Strathman today, right? Maybe he can give you a pill or something to tide you over until I get home."

 

"Maybe he can."

 

"Don't skip your appointment."

 

"I won't."

 

"Are you feeling better?"

 

She took a deep breath. "Yeah, I am."

 

"Cause if you're not I can bore you to death with a summary of yesterday."

 

She smiled, despite herself. "No, it's okay. I'm fine. I'm not interrupting anything?"

 

"No, no. Call back whenever you want. My German is terrible. I'd rather be listening to your voice, anyway."

 

\--

 

"What do you think it means?"

 

Nancy had kicked off her shoes. Her stockinged feet were hanging over the arm of the couch, and she'd propped her head up on a cushion at the other end. "I think it means I'm gonna be in therapy forever," she said, her eyes closed.

 

"More specific than that."

 

"I still don't feel like I'm good enough for Ned. Maybe some part of me thinks I still have a chance with Jean, that he's more on my... lower level." Nancy opened her eyes and looked up at the ceiling. "But I hate Jean. More than anyone else I've ever known."

 

"Hate can easily become love."

 

She looked at Strathman, incredulous. "How could I ever love him?"

 

The doctor shrugged. "I didn't say there was a reason. But the language in your dream... both times, you said 'You don't love me, he does.' Why do you think you said that?"

 

"Ned does love me."

 

"So it qualifies Ned as a better suitor."

 

"Suitor...?" Nancy repeated.

 

"This isn't conscious, Nancy."

 

"How could it be? How could it exist at all? I come close to him in my dreams, I feel... he makes me..."

 

"How does he make you feel?" the doctor asked, when Nancy flushed and didn't continue.

 

"The way I should only feel with my husband," she muttered.

 

"Sexually aroused."

 

"Yes."

 

"Do you remember Jean raping you?"

 

"No," she whispered.

 

"You told the police you did."

 

She closed her eyes again and rubbed her forehead. "It doesn't seem like it counts as rape when I didn't fight back."

 

"Did he drug you?"

 

She nodded. "But he... had that affect on me before he ever drugged me. The first time I saw him."

 

"Are there other men you've met who could do that, besides your husband?"

 

"To some degree," she admitted. "One other in particular."

 

"Do you have a relationship with that man now?"

 

"He's a friend. To both Ned and me."

 

"Was he ever anything more?"

 

She shook her head. "He kissed me... a few times. We saw each other a few times when Ned and I were separated. But nothing happened."

 

"Do you feel the same about him now?"

 

"I know whenever I see him, I might get that little twinge. But I also know that nothing is going to happen. And like I said... we're friends now. We were friends before."

 

"But you were never friends with Jean."

 

"No. And... Ned is the only other person I've felt that way about, really. The immediate attraction."

 

"Not with this other man?"

 

"No." Nancy sat up and leaned forward, toward the doctor. "This might sound weird, but... Ned's the only guy. He's always been the only guy. When we were apart I felt terrible because I knew that I wanted to be with him, and it would take me forever to get to a place where I could even think about anyone again. I can see other guys, be friends with other guys, think they're cute... but it goes no further than that. If they asked me if I wanted to go out, I'd start hating them. Because that just wouldn't be right."

 

"And is that the way you felt about Jean?"

 

She shook her head slowly. "No, and that's what's weird. He's the only other one. The first time I saw him I imagined..."

 

"What it would be like to be intimate with him?"

 

Nancy nodded. "Yeah," she whispered miserably.

 

"Did you want to have sex with him?"

 

"I didn't know what I wanted. It never... the imagining never went anywhere. It never transferred from fantasy into me trying to put myself in situations to see him, that sort of thing. I don't think."

 

"What makes you unsure?"

 

"It was the case. I had to spend time around him. And every time I'd see him it was like this... thing. Like being drunk. That was how being around him felt. Lower inhibitions, everything."

 

"Did it feel good, to be around him?"

 

"He wanted me, and he let me know it. And that felt good. And I'd been with Ned a long time, and he was different... but I didn't, I couldn't—"

 

"Don't make any judgements on it."

 

"How can I not?" she asked. "Even as the words come up in my brain I know they're wrong." Nancy was flushed, and the edge on her voice was dangerous.

 

"Calm down, and just breathe," he said. "Calm down. Don't... look, maybe we should talk about something else for a minute?"

 

She nodded. "All right."

 

"What about the part about having his child?"

 

Nancy's stockinged toes gleamed as they dug into the carpet. She knew exactly how she felt about it; she'd scheduled an appointment with Dr April Callahan the next day to see if she could help confirm or deny. "I have no idea if it happened," she said. "I only have Ned's word for where I've been and what I've been doing. And that of other people. And for all I know I did spend a month that I said I was in France or something, but that I actually spent with him somewhere. There are gaps in what I know. But I only know that now, now that you've helped me go back and see the things I thought were true that never happened."

 

"Do you believe that it did? That he got you pregnant?"

 

Nancy looked up, and her eyes were gleaming with tears. "No," she whispered. "But I don't know for sure. I don't know why Ned and I haven't been able to get pregnant."

 

"Are your feelings still ambivalent about having a child?"

 

Nancy let her eyes wander away from the doctor, to some of the framed certificates on the wall. "I guess so," she replied. She bit her lip. "I really want to get back on the pill."

 

"Do you know why?"

 

She squinted, trying to read the Old English script on the parchment. "Ned's going to be disappointed. Again. He wants a child so badly. I don't think I'm ready for it."

 

"But you said, watching your friend's children..."

 

Nancy shrugged. "I think I like the idea of having a baby. But every time we have sex, it's not just... it's not just sex anymore. It's a way to... I don't know."

 

"Do you feel like it's a test?"

 

She nodded. "Kind of. And every month I don't pass."

 

"You know that if you're stressed it doesn't help with conception."

 

"I know."

 

"So he's told you, when you tell him again that your efforts have not succeeded, that he's disappointed in you and your relationship?"

 

"No. Not... no."

 

"He pressures you into having sex when you don't want to, during the peak times in your cycle?"

 

Nancy shook her head.

 

"Does he give you a subconscious guilt trip?"

 

"I feel like I'm supposed to be performing and I just can't. Like my body's not up to doing what he wants. Like I'm... I don't know, like I'm stupid, it's something everyone else can do, even the first time they have sex. And here I am—"

 

"You know that's irrational. Yes, some women can get pregnant the first time they have sex, some women can try for years and not get pregnant at all, some can have miscarriage after miscarriage. Some guys have low sperm counts. Some women take fertility drugs. You've been trying for barely six months, and you're young. But I'm not saying you should keep trying if you've been feeling like you should go back on birth control."

 

"I just feel like I won't be under the pressure," she said. "Every time wondering if it's finally happened. Or not."

 

"Have you asked him how he would feel about your going back on the pill for a month or two?"

 

She turned her head and stared at the doctor. "Hell no," she replied. "He'd be heartbroken, devastated—"

 

"So it's better for you to worry and be unsure and have a child even if you're not sure you're ready to do that."

 

"Of course not." She sighed.

 

\--

 

"Come on, get in the bathtub," Ned said. "Just take your clothes off and get in the bathtub."

 

"How many beers did you have?"

 

"Everyone drinks beer here," Ned said. "Tons of them. I'm not drunk. But it's late here and I really really think you should get naked and get in the bathtub and then let me tell you what I'm imagining I'm doing to you right now."

 

"And then you're gonna get naked and get in the bathtub and let me moan into your ear?"

 

"Sure."

 

"But I'm in bed."

 

"A few slight details may change," he said. "Nothing major."

 

Nancy laughed. "I'd rather tell you exactly what I'm going to do when you get home."

 

"Does it involve that hot red lace number you left a polaroid of in my suitcase?"

 

"Maybe."

 

"That nightgown has inspired three separate fantasies. And that's only so far."

 

"Glad I could provide a little help."

 

"It helps. When the guys are on break drinking beer and I'm wondering exactly how I'm going to spend the next hour, when my German is still not good enough to do anything other than order a bratwurst..."

 

She laughed and wrapped her other arm around her bear. "Silly boy," she said.

 

"Oh, I think that's the last thing you'll be saying," he said in a low voice.

 

"Bess is here!" George called from downstairs.

 

"Look, I have to go. Can that polaroid tide you over?"

 

Ned sighed. "I guess," he said. "God, I wish you were here."

 

"Me too," she said.

 

She hung up the phone and buried her face in the bear's fur for a minute, then brushed her hair out of her face and headed down the stairs.

 

"I'm not playing poker with her," George announced, pointing at her cousin.

 

"What, are you scared?" Bess asked, grinning.

 

"You did take a cab here, didn't you?" Nancy asked Bess.

 

"Sure. Why?"

 

Nancy walked over to the cabinet and took out a bottle and three shot glasses. "Cause I don't think I'm gonna be able to drive you anywhere."

 

\--

 

"That jerk," Bess announced, slamming her shot glass down. "Why isn't he home early?"

 

"He offered to come home," Nancy said, timidly. "And he doesn't know about the dreams."

 

George took two more cards and a sip of her drink. "So... what did the shrink say about them?"

 

Nancy poured herself another shot. "Not a lot."

 

"Does the same thing happen? With the... you know. The fast breathing."

 

Nancy shook her head. "I don't think they're the same. And to be honest I'd be glad if it all went away before Ned comes home."

 

Bess took a card and gestured for Nancy to refill her glass. "Why? I mean, Nan, maybe a part of your brain is trying to tell you something."

 

Nancy looked down. "I don't want to hear it," she said. "I'd just as soon keep the door shut, keep the memories buried. I don't want to know. I feel so terrible now, even without knowing."

 

"Maybe you can't feel any worse," George said gently. "Maybe you should just get it all out now. I'll go with you if you want."

 

"Me too," Bess piped up.

 

Nancy opened her eyes wide, looking between them. "No," she said, a smile creeping over her face. "Thanks, I mean that. You guys are great."

 

"At least think about it," George said. "And it's your turn."

 

After she'd invited Bess and her husband to the next poker night, she found George had fallen asleep in the five minutes she'd left her alone, sprawled and looking pretty comfortable on the couch. She didn't respond to light touches or her name, so Nancy tucked an afghan over her and headed upstairs. She had to hold onto the rail the whole way up, and walked slowly, concentrating hard.

 

She found a paper cup in the bathroom and filled it with water, and found herself unable to look away from the bathtub. She glanced over at the bedside table and her cell phone.

 

"Hey," she said a few minutes later. "I'm in the tub and I'm naked. Where did you want to start?"

 

\--

 

Nancy woke the next morning to the smell of coffee and toast. She wrinkled her nose and buried her face between her bear and the pillow just before her alarm went off.

 

Yawning, she descended the staircase and found George in the kitchen, sipping a cup of black coffee. She poured one out of the coffeepot and grunted a greeting to her friend.

 

"Hi," George replied, her voice rough.

 

"How'd you sleep?" Nancy asked.

 

"Okay." George parted her toast from its crust and took an experimental bite. "You?"

 

Nancy rubbed her forehead. "I don't remember," she admitted. "I have no idea when I went to sleep, and I have a meeting first thing this morning about some paperwork I haven't even looked at."

 

George smiled. "Sounds like you're getting behind on your homework."

 

\--

 

Nancy glanced at her watch as April walked back into the examination room, eight hours later. Her elegant suit was in a neat pile on a chair, and she was shivering in the light hospital gown, kicking her feet in the air like a child.

 

"I'm sorry," April said.

 

Nancy felt her breath catch in her chest, and everything in the room became sharp, hard. Heavier.

 

"Sorry about what?"

 

April shrugged and sat down in a chair. "Nancy, can you tell me anything about what you think may have happened?"

 

Nancy shook her head. "I don't know."

 

April furrowed a brow. "I just... are you saying that Ned...?"

 

Nancy filled her lungs and expelled the breath. "No. It wasn't Ned. And it was probably a long time ago, I don't know. It could have been..."

 

April tilted her head. "Nancy, I didn't find any evidence one way or the other. If you've had an abortion it was well performed. You're entirely healthy."

 

Nancy looked down at her stilled feet. "Okay."

 

"Can you tell me why you think this happened? Why you don't know?"

 

Nancy shook her head. "I can't really explain it," she said. "It's stupid. A dream, a stupid dream."

 

"I know a lot of women who have had them done. It's not like I'm going to run to Trevor and—"

 

Nancy looked up, gazed at April until she had the older woman's attention. "If I had an abortion," she said, "it was against my will. I don't even know that I was ever pregnant."

 

April opened her mouth and closed it. "Oh."

 

\--

 

Back in her suit, her hair in a hasty bun, Nancy climbed into her Jaguar and started the engine. She pulled up to the gate and handed over her ticket. The guard smiled at her.

 

Nancy glanced down at her passenger seat and the cell phone there.

__

_the abortion was against my will_

 

Nancy smiled back at the guard and pulled out of the parking lot, racing her car to make it to her dinner appointment with George on time. She thought about the words. She hadn't even been thinking, hadn't wanted April to ask any questions. But then she had said that.

 

The way she felt right now, any abortion would be against her will. She might not want a child with her whole heart, but she wasn't totally opposed to the experience. Not with Ned. She could see the way he would look, how he would act with their child.

 

But Jean's child.

 

Nancy slammed her hand against the steering wheel. How could Jean have done that? How would she have even known to call him, if for the other fifty-one weeks out of the year she didn't even remember being with him?

 

"I had to double-check when I pulled up," George said, smiling. "A sports bar?"

 

Nancy swallowed, everything, buried it and smoothed the covers over, and smiled back at her friend. "I knew you didn't want to miss the game."

 

"Thanks." She held up a beer. "Want anything?"

 

\--

 

She put off her phone call to Ned. George was downstairs on the couch again, watching a movie she had rented after the game had gone badly for her team. Nancy left the phone on the bedside table and stared at it, hugging her bear, afraid of what would come out of her mouth if he said he loved her and that he couldn't wait to see her again.

 

The days stretched ahead of her until she could see her doctor again, so she thought of the words he might say, if she could lay bare everything, everything she feared and wished and hated, in front of him, if she could even admit it to herself. Projection, hysteria...

 

that she had enjoyed it, wanted it, wanted him, wanted to keep his child.

 

She placed a hand over her belly. That child would have had—

 

"No," she said. "There was no child."

 

That was true, wasn't it? No evidence of a child, no child. No mistake. No proof that somehow her relationship with Jean bore more fruit than that with her husband.

 

She jumped when her cell phone rang. Her stockinged feet pushed the comforter into ridges as she rolled over and picked it up. "Hi," she answered.

 

"Hey," he said, his voice gentle. "I didn't wake you, did I?"

 

Nancy reached up and brushed an errant strand of hair out of her face, was surprised to find moisture on her cheek. "No," she answered, staring down at the salt water glistening on the side of her hand. "No. Shouldn't you be asleep?"

 

"Nah. I figured out what I want to do for our anniversary."

 

Despite herself, she smiled. They had been celebrating their anniversary every month. "Yeah. It is quite a milestone, isn't it. So what do you want to do?"

 

He chuckled under his breath. "It's nothing," he said.

 

"Then you can tell me, if it's nothing."

 

"It's stupid. And casual. And nothing serious."

 

"And you want me to stop asking."

 

"If you do keep asking I'll have to figure out something else to do, something impressive and stunning."

 

"All I want is you home," she told him. "We can go from there."

 

\--

 

Bess closed her menu. "I hate to ruin our last night of fun, but I need a babysitter."

 

George and Nancy exchanged glances. They were both on their second drinks, and had taken a cab to the restaurant in expectation of the excesses of the evening. Bess was sipping her iced water.

 

"Oh, not right now. Next month."

 

Nancy giggled, then covered her mouth. "Damn, you scared me."

 

George nodded. "I thought you meant the kids were home alone."

 

"Nah, but I'm really gonna owe Nate after Ned comes back." Bess smiled up at the waiter.

 

"So... when, tomorrow?" Nancy sipped the remainder of her long island iced tea and gestured for another.

 

Bess cocked an eyebrow. "Not at the rate you're drinking those down. It's in about a month, my sister in law is getting married. In California."

 

George handed over her menu and picked up her own drink. "She doesn't live there, does she?"

 

Bess shrugged. "Don't ask me, I don't quite understand it either. But she's his baby sister and we have to go. I'd rather not drag the kids along."

 

"Okay," Nancy said, shrugging. "I don't mind. It's not for too long, is it?"

 

"A long weekend," Bess admitted, quietly. "I just feel bad always having parents do it. They need a weekend off too."

 

Nancy propped her chin on her hand. "You two didn't have any problems getting pregnant, did you."

 

Bess shook her head. "Not really. It didn't take that long. It was nerve wracking when we were waiting, though. He was about to transfer, I was taking some classes... but it all worked out fine."

 

"I guess."

 

"Hey, cheer up. No unhappy drunks here." George nudged her friend. "Besides, you two haven't been trying that long."

 

"Yeah," Nancy said. "Maybe I should just go back on the pill, relax a while..."

 

Bess and George exchanged glances. "Relish your time while you have it," Bess said. "Once you have a kid, it's like your time isn't your own anymore, your life isn't your own anymore."

 

"But you wouldn't trade, would you," Nancy asked her friend.

 

Bess shook her head, her eyes glowing. "Nope," she said.

 

After dinner Nancy and George took the taxi back to Nancy's house. They changed into flannel pajamas and sat in the spare room, playing video games.

 

Nancy tossed her controller down after she lost the third race in a row. "Wow. I didn't know it was getting to me that much."

 

"Hey, if you're gonna blame it on the alcohol, I'll challenge you to a rematch when we're both sober," George said, laughing.

 

Nancy half-smiled. "The screen is making me dizzy," she admitted. "Otherwise I'd be kicking your ass right now."

 

"Want to go downstairs and watch a movie?" George asked.

 

Nancy shook her head, letting it roll back and forth on her shoulders. "Nah."

 

"Is there anything you do want?"

 

Simultaneously they both looked at Nancy's cell phone, which was beside her bean bag, on the carpet. "Yeah," she mumbled. A half-smile rested on her face. "I want my husband to be here."

 

George smothered a yawn with the back of her hand. "He'll be in pretty early tomorrow morning, right?"

 

Nancy nodded. "Go to bed, George."

 

"Are you gonna be okay?"

 

Nancy smiled. "Yeah. I'll just get a glass of water and go to bed."

 

"Can't you give him a call or something?" George was sympathetic.

 

"I think he's on the plane already. Otherwise I'd do it, trust me."

 

"All right." George stood and shook out her hair, stretched her long legs. "Thanks."

 

Nancy smiled. "For what? I was the one who practically begged you to stay over this entire week. I'm sure you had plenty of other stuff to do."

 

George shrugged. "You're my friend," she said.

 

\--

 

"Hey beautiful."

 

Nancy's eyes opened slowly and she drew in a breath, then met Ned's gaze. "Hey," she said, happily, throwing herself into his arms.

 

He let out a startled laugh as he lost his balance and collapsed with her back onto the mattress. "Good to see you too."

 

"You must be so tired," she said, her voice muffled by his shoulder. But she didn't let him go.

 

"Yeah," he admitted. He nuzzled her neck, then loosed his hold on her, but kept his arms around her as he rolled over. She stared into his eyes for a moment, then smiled.

 

"I missed you," she whispered.

 

"Ich vermißte Sie auch," he responded.

 

She smacked his arm. "You big faker."

 

"I picked up a few things." He leaned forward and kissed her cheek. "How long until you have to get up?"

 

Nancy glanced at the clock. "Forty-five minutes."

 

Ned reached down and loosed his tie. "I can do that."

 

\--

 

An hour later, George rolled over and groaned. "No way," she said.

 

Nancy nodded, smiling. "Sorry."

 

George sat up and ran a hand over her tousled curls. "He must already be home. You're grinning like an idiot."

 

"Oh thanks," Nancy said, but didn't relax her face. "Come on, let's get some breakfast."

 

"Is he coming with?"

 

Nancy shook her head. "He's out cold."

 

\--

 

"Our newest interns," Agent Roberts said, gesturing to the three agents standing in front of Nancy. "Stone, Ellison, and Critcher."

 

Nancy shook hands with each of them. Stone was a rather mediocre-looking sandy-haired guy. Nancy was impressed with him if only for that reason; in their job, mediocre meant nonmemorable meant a good operative. Ellison had her auburn hair skimmed back into a ponytail and looked strictly professional, from her sensible earrings to her flat-soled shoes. Critcher looked like he'd be more at home in their computer crimes division, and for a moment Nancy felt a pang of regret. If she and Ned had only pursued similar goals, he could be there by her side, breaking through firewalls and decoding encryptions with her. If only. Instead he was sleeping off German jetlag, in preparation for the night he had planned.

 

"Okay. You guys will be helping me on the Phillips case." Nancy snuck a glance at Ellison's face and noticed the faintly disapproving raised eyebrow. "This morning we'll go over the file, and any suggestions you might have would be much appreciated. We've pretty much hit a total standstill..."

 

\--

 

"I'm almost ready," Ned called from the kitchen.

 

"Did you sleep well?" Nancy placed her briefcase by the door and shrugged out of her suit jacket, revealing a collared white shirt and a pinstriped graphite skirt.

 

"I slept like a baby," Ned admitted.

 

Nancy glanced around and walked over to the enormous bouquet of dark pink and violet flowers standing on the hall table. "Is this what you had planned?" she called, burying her face in the blooms to inhale their scent.

 

Ned appeared, smiling, his hair still slightly damp from a recent shower. "Part of it," he said. "Why don't you go upstairs and get changed? I just need a few more minutes."

 

Nancy gestured down at her outfit. "You don’t like? Not even the garter belt I’m wearing?"

 

Ned laughed. "Oh? That’s comfortable?"

 

"No, actually," she replied. "Not really. I’d love to go put some jeans on."

 

"Go ahead," he said.

 

A few minutes later Nancy came downstairs, skimming her hair back into a ponytail. Her bare toes gleamed with unspoilt red paint. "Smells wonderful," she said, taking in the candlelit dinner spread on their table. "I thought you were going to catch up on your sleep today. This must have taken forever."

 

Ned smiled. "Not forever. I don’t know about you, but I’m pretty well rested," he said.

 

"Thanks," she said softly. "This is great. You’re great."

 

"Oh, I know," he said lightly, and she laughed at him. "Look beside your plate."

 

He took a sip of wine as she pulled the thin silver strand between her fingers. "It’s gorgeous," she breathed. Then she darted a glance at him. "I have yours in your purse, but I’m going to wait—"

 

Ned filled her wine glass. "That’s fine."

 

"It’s just that if I give it to you now, you won’t even want to finish dinner."

 

"Is it some scandalously small nightie?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

 

She laughed. "Nah. You’re not bored of that new red lace one yet."

 

"Nor will I ever be," Ned said, "after the hours it and I have spent together, daydreaming about how you will look with it on the floor."

 

Nancy tapped her wine glass against his. "Later, darling."

 

After they were fairly stuffed with food, Nancy put the leftovers in the fridge while Ned loaded the dishwasher. "I hate the cleaning up part," he complained.

 

Nancy smiled. "My charming French chef," she giggled, framing his face in her hands and kissing him lightly.

 

"Okay," he said, after they had dimmed the lights and adjourned to the living room. "Romance or action?"

 

Nancy snuggled her chilly feet under the afghan she usually left spread over the back of the couch, and looked back and forth between the nondescript rental boxes in his hands. "Drugrunners in the Florida Keys?" she asked him, a smile tugging her lips, as she tugged the ponytail holder out of her hair and shook it out.

 

He shrugged. "May as well be."

 

After he loaded the movie into the player he sat down on the couch with her, and she leaned forward so he could rest with his back propped up on an arm. She leaned back, her back against his chest, and relaxed into his arms.

 

"Think you can make it?" he asked, his voice soft, into her hair.

 

She reached down and adjusted the afghan so that it covered her feet, and when she leaned back Ned’s hands slipped beneath the hem of her sweater, to rest on the warmth of her abdomen. "Um, yeah," she responded, resting her hands over his.

 

The movie was utterly forgettable in itself, though Nancy liked the love interest. Half an hour into it Ned went to the kitchen to make a bowl of popcorn, and when he returned he slipped out of his shirt and sat down next to her again.

 

"You’re not cold?" she asked.

 

He shrugged. "Not with you on top of me keeping me warm."

 

She slipped out of her jeans and pulled the covers back over her quickly, and Ned raised an eyebrow at her, his face lit by the exploding car on the screen, as he settled back underneath her. "Are your feet cold?" he asked, his breath ruffling her hair.

 

"Yeah," she admitted. Ned wrapped his legs around her so that her feet were touching the warm fabric of his jeans, and she tucked her toes underneath them.

 

"How about now?" His hand crept over her stomach again, to settle over her belly button.

 

Nancy exhaled, closed her eyes briefly. "Oh, I’m good now."

 

He fed her a few kernels of popcorn, and she felt his breath quicken when she ran her tongue over his fingertips. When he did it again, she took his index finger into her mouth, stroked it with her tongue, sucked it gently. That time she actually heard him murmur something, but her play didn't continue. The popcorn occupied his hands for a while, but after she had taken a few handfuls, the couple onscreen began a particularly nasty fight that clearly telegraphed their hotel room would serve as more than an undercover hideout. Nancy scowled as their bickering gave way to frantic kissing, until Ned reached down and tugged at the hem of her sweater. She lifted her arms, her fingers brushing the arm of the couch on either side of his head, as he drew it up and off.

 

"Your skin is so damn smooth," he mumbled, wrapping his arms around her as she pulled herself up, her back warmed by the feel of his bare skin against it. The couple onscreen, meanwhile, was fumbling its way into bed. The movement caught his eye until Nancy took his hands in hers and led them to the closure at the front of her bra.

 

She gasped at the feel of the cooler air as Ned pulled her bra off and tossed it off the couch. She turned in his arms, onto her side, and whispered against his cheek, "Do you want me to go put on the nightgown?"

 

"Not really," he replied, sliding his fingers up past her cheek and into her hair as he drew her face to his and kissed her. She rolled over and planted her knees on either side of his hips, drawing the afghan up over her bare shoulders, as she kissed him back.

 

"Now my feet are cold," he said, laughing, when she pulled back.

 

She reached down and unfastened his jeans. "That’s about the only part of you that is," she teased him, and he watched her eyelashes flutter as he hooked his thumbs under the sides of her string bikini and stroked the skin there.

 

"I think—" she began.

 

"Maybe we should go upstairs," he completed for her as she finally finished opening his jeans. He squirmed out of them and left them on the floor as he gathered her in his arms.

 

"_Je me suis ennuyé de vous_," he whispered as they slipped under the covers of their bed.

 

"I missed you too," she replied, searching his eyes. "Why not German?"

 

"French is infinitely more romantic," he murmured, curling his fingers around the sides of her bikinis and drawing them down her legs. "I don’t feel like spitting on you, you’re already wet enough."

 

She chuckled. "You have no way to know that."

 

He smiled as he slid out of his boxers and pulled the covers up to their bare shoulders. "But I know you, my dear," he whispered, leaning down to kiss her. When his fingers slipped between her spread thighs she gasped against his mouth, and he murmured his approval.

 

"Told you," he breathed, sliding his knees forward to shift the angle of her hips as he stroked her breasts with his fingers. Nancy moaned and reached up for him, drawing him back down to her for another kiss.

 

"Please," she whispered as he broke for air, his mouth motionless against hers as his hands slid down to her hips. Her eyes fluttered closed as his hands curled around them, and her spine arched as his weight shifted on the bed.

 

"Please what?" he asked as something exploded downstairs, the Florida drugrunners upset at having been forgotten, left only with their discarded clothing to watch them. He slipped his tongue over the point where her shoulder met her neck, and her moan became merely expelled, relieved breath as he traced his fingertips between her legs.

 

"I want you," she whispered, her breath catching as he stroked her.

 

He trailed kisses back up to her mouth and she tangled her fingers in his hair as their lips touched. She was already trembling underneath him as he moved his hips to hers. His eyelids fluttered closed as he pressed himself between her thighs, her face tilting back under his as she wrapped her legs around him.

 

"Ned," she groaned, her breath quickening into gasps as he moved inside her. "Yes, yes, please, oh God..."

 

She screamed into his chest as her hips responded to his, as she took his weight, her heart beating impossibly fast against her ribs. He buried his face against her hair and took a shuddering breath when she spasmed around him. His mouth was dry as they moved together, urgently, and he nearly forgot to breathe as she came, whimpering desperately beneath him.

 

"Nan," he whispered, brushing her hair back from her forehead as her eyelashes fluttered. She was smiling, her heart still beating fast against his chest.

 

"God, that was fantastic," she murmured. "And you haven’t even seen the present I got you yet, either."


	2. Chapter 2

She wore an anklet the next day, a flash of silver just above her foot and over the subtle hue of her stockings. Austrian silver, another apology for another business trip, which matched the slender chain around her neck. She wore it, still awash in a cloud of new perfume, as she left the present tilted and waiting on his game console. Pale green long-sleeved coat and knee-length skirt, silk camisole, hair gathered in a pearl clasp at the back of her head, muted flash of polished fingernails. She looked warm and professional, badge clipped to her lapel, as she took in her husband. Tanned flesh gleaming in a natural hue that took her a week of careful sunbathing to achieve, one loosely clasped fist flung across her pillow, lips parted slightly to allow for his perceptible breathing.

 

"Ned," she said softly.

 

The clasped fist became spread fingers that rubbed over his stubbled face. "You're dressed, aren't you," he said, mock irritable. Liquid brown eyes blinking open, then gazing into her carefully made-up face.

 

"Three minutes before I have to go."

 

He sat up and opened his arms, and she walked toward him smoothly, diamonds flashing from the rings he had given her, and then he nuzzled his face against the linen buttoned across her midsection. "Tell them you can't," he mumbled. "Tell them my plane was late, tell them I've handcuffed you to the bed—"

 

Nancy stifled a laugh at the thought of what Agent Roberts' pointed reply would be to that excuse. She ran her fingers over his unruly hair. "You going in today?"

 

He shook his head, his breath warming her skin even through the fabric.

 

skirt, gaze, orange prison jumpsuit

 

"All the more reason you should stay here." His fingers plucked at the fabric layered over the small of her back.

 

She blinked and the hazy image was gone. "All the more reason I should go," she said. "I left your present in the study and I wouldn't want you neglecting me all day because of it."

 

"Present?" His eyes lit up, face tilted back to look into hers.

 

She leaned over and kissed the corner of his mouth, smudging the mark her lipstick made in a possessive gesture. "Don't forget to eat while I'm gone," she advised him.

 

\--

 

Ned commanded a corner office. She knew that. She had seen it, mahogany wood and black leather and the scent of money in the crisp power suits and shining wingtips. She had commanded her own corner office, still maintained a managing interest in the agency, still checked in every now and then. A few times even with Ned along, his hand in hers, Nancy's secretary giving them a knowing glance that made Nancy blush even after their union had been sanctified and blessed a second time.

 

Now, however, Nancy was in command only of a cubicle in the bullpen and the joint ownership of a conference room, a pot of stale coffee, and a totally inappropriate sense of happiness over the fresh pack of pens the supply closet had deemed her worthy of receiving.

 

Black Bic stick pens. Ned could afford truckloads of them, and one unopened box equaled the wonder of Christmas morning.

 

She shook her head, resisting the entirely unprofessional impulse to reach down and toy with her anklet, knowing Ned was nowhere around, would not insist upon dragging her to the nearest semiprivate space to have his way with her.

 

Her voicemail flashed on her phone, and she checked it, inwardly groaning. "Field trip to the morgue today." She had seen at least a thousand dead bodies in various states of decay and circumstance, but why did it have to be on an anklet day?

__

_I sound like Bess_, she thought in dull wonder.

 

\--

 

At the beginning of her trek through the enormous warehouse of a store, she paused in the line at the pharmacy counter. Three people ahead of her, and she sized them up without thinking. A white-haired man in a blue windbreaker, shuffling his weight back and forth, one hand in his pocket. A woman with gleaming cheeks, hair pulled back in a hasty ponytail, the hems of her jeans legs worn by shoes into frayed white strings. A mother with a round-cheeked toddler in the basket of her shopping cart, grubby fingers grabbing at any available purchase on her cardigan, a furrow already leaving a faint mark down the skin between her eyebrows as she lectured the uncaring child.

__

_I can change my mind._

 

Nancy studied the fiber caplets and dietary supplements, dusty on metal shelves, and then the bored girl smacking her gum was extending a hand for whatever proof Nancy could give that she needed some pill or unguent or insulin drip.

 

She handed over the creased prescription, cool lack of importance, lack of weight. She would pick it up on the way out; fine, fine, Mrs. Nickerson, see you in a little while.

 

Mrs. Nickerson.

 

And exactly what gives you the right, you with your piles of made and married money, spacious house, unsullied womb, to prevent yourself from experiencing the miracle committed by shocked fumbling teenagers in the backs of borrowed cars every weeknight and twice a weekend.

 

Only fate and circumstance, thank you, but I prefer neither. I prefer no mingling of my tainted blood into some innocent.

 

"We'll see what happens."

 

Maybe nothing will, maybe nothing will.

 

Scrutinized vegetables, a box of pop-tarts, box of midgrade teabags. A serious-faced preteen was playing a demo of the game she had given Ned, fingers on the controls made slick with continual use. Enormous bottles of soap, stacks of rough towels.

 

She could leave now, leave the teardrop case behind, come back another day or leave it until she had some stuttering plea on her voicemail to come pick up her birth control.

 

leave it

 

But she was back in line, crinkling paper bag

 

(pregnancy test)

 

in hand, express lane, smooth merge back onto the freeway.

 

She could hear it when she walked in, hear his frustrated shouts at the television even from the doorway. "Son of a _bitch_." She smiled in his direction and put the bags on the counter, put things away, took out the meat she had set to marinate before leaving in the morning. The evidence of his foraging was on the kitchen table, visible only to her eyes; the few crumbs, unexpected jar of peanut butter, one or two fewer cans cooling on the refrigerator shelves.

 

"Nan?"

 

"Yeah," she called back. "I'll be up in a minute."

 

Slice the potatoes, layer them in the casserole dish with cheese, slam them in the oven for an indeterminate length of time, check; meat on the roasting tray for same indeterminate time, check; big inexplicable glass of orange juice which she half-finished before even walking out of the kitchen, check. He had pulled on his boxers and brushed his teeth, but then she was pretty sure he'd found the game, because he had made no other concessions to civilization.

 

"You are the best," he said when she walked in, his eyes glued to the screen. He paused the game and pulled the other bean bag close to his. "Have you seen this game before?"

 

She shrugged, glass cupped between her palms, anklet still gleaming above her bare feet. He gestured for her to sit down, and she did, nestling into the bean bag. "All I heard is that it was on every guy's list this year."

 

"And it's not supposed to be out for another month." He shot her a sidelong glance. "Do I want to know?"

 

"It was nothing bad," she replied, laughing slightly. "Just a friend of a friend I helped out once."

 

"How long until dinner's ready?"

 

She mentally calculated, absently noting as he took the glass from her hand and lifted it above her head to place it on a desk. "Thirty minutes."

 

His eyes gleamed as he unfastened the single button on her jacket, pushed the hem of her skirt up her thigh to show the tops of her stockings. "I have it all," he said, sighing contentedly. "Assuming you're wearing a thong."

 

"Ahh," she said, shaking her head.

__

_"Ned, I... I know how much you want this, but, I'm going back on the pill."_

 

No. The words stuck in her throat. He was unfastening her garters, careful not to rip her stockings, palm warm between her thighs. Her throat was dry. She needed water, something wet, something against her throat.

 

Besides the obvious.

 

She hadn't taken the pill yet. It was downstairs, in her purse, in unbroken blister pack. Not like it was the morning-after pill, either, not like some miracle couldn't happen in the next twenty-eight days. She hadn't expected to come up here and find him half-clothed, pushing her skirt up around her waist, tugging the lace tanga down her thighs, silk strings of her garter belt hanging useless. The anklet

__

_bare and wasted_

 

silver thread through the underwear he tossed aside, the uncomfortable texture of the bean bag against the heels of her hands as his weight pressed her into it.

__

_dammit_, she thought, unseen tears pricking at her eyelids.

 

"You okay? I don't think I've ever ravished you on a bean bag."

 

"I'll try anything once," she said, forcing a smile at his sly response, but she felt sick, as though she had told him some glaring lie. The discomfort only increased as he maneuvered her legs into position. Her skin burned when he touched her. He had to know. He would be so angry.

 

But he didn't, he didn't know. He was too preoccupied with her. And once she realized the futility, she used every trick she knew, the pitched screams and sudden movements, to make him come without realizing that she hadn't. Couldn't.

 

He played one last game as she closed herself into their bedroom, stifling her sudden violent burst of sobs as she peeled off her stockings and balled them up, threw them into a corner, unhooked her garter belt and threw it. She could smell his scent on her palms before she scrubbed her face almost raw, the ache just beginning to pulse in her thighs. She unbuttoned the skirt and stepped out of it, found a thong and a pair of jeans, swept her hair up into a ponytail.

 

Between plating the meat and serving the potatoes, still sniffling, she dug the crinkling accusing bag out of her purse and buried it under the trash already in the can. Because if he found it he would be so angry at her. She would discuss it with him first. Maybe while they were in bed, after she did something he particularly liked and he was stroking her hair and would agree to almost anything. Some other pharmacist on the way home from work, and it would be done.

__

_"Honey, could you pick up my birth control?"_

 

God, she had been so tense, how had he not felt it? Not that he noticed much, once she started touching him that way. He'd promise her the moon for that touch.

 

promise her that the uncertainty would fade in time, that she would grow to want it, that he thought no worse of her for every worthless month, every shake of her head

 

The yellow room filled her with dread. Yellow wall-paper.

 

And she heard Strathman's voice in her head. How has he made you feel inadequate, how has he made you feel badly, give me examples, tell me what he says, tell me why it makes you nervous, tell me exactly how you feel you're not performing, tell me, let me dig my fingers into your soul, let me find what inside you is so afraid of being tied to him for the rest of your life.

 

"Hey." Her knees trembled at the kiss as he embraced her lightly from behind, grabbed the plates in a choreographed motion after hundreds of meals at the table. "Looks great. I promise I'll cook tomorrow night, it's just, the game, and..."

 

"I understand." Smile on her suddenly pale lips. She grabbed silverware and finished setting the table.

 

He really was apologetic, she saw, after the meal, after they scraped plates into the trash can. He gathered it up, tied the string, lifted it out to carry it outside.

 

"Let me do that," she said, as though the paper bag would burn through the thin plastic like some scarlet letter and reveal her. She carried it out, made sure the evidence was covered, and walked back in just as he finished loading the dishwasher, washed his hands.

 

"Hey," she said, pulling the curtain over their back window. She held her hands behind her back, and he met her gaze.

 

"You want me to wipe off the table?" His eyes were warm.

 

"Not right now," she said, twining her arms up around his neck.

__

_always can do it later_

 

"You look really, really hot in those jeans," Ned commented, sliding his hands down her sides, tracing her curves.

 

"But I'd look hotter out of them," she suggested, and he unbuttoned them, nudging a kiss against her lips, predatory. She hopped up onto the countertop and he tugged her jeans off.

 

"Is that..."

 

"Yeah," she replied. She hooked her fingers around the waistband of his shorts and pushed them down, and he reached between her legs, tugged her underwear aside, her tattoo prickling with gooseflesh. "Come here..."

 

He murmured something, his mouth against hers, pulling her hips forward to his. She wrapped her legs around his waist and he groaned his frustration, tugged her thong up until she was gasping, the material tight on her wet flesh, then ripped the fabric apart. She traced her tongue along the line of his jaw as he slipped her down, pressing her between the edge of the counter and his hips, and rocked into her. She threw her head back and moaned.

 

The phone rang.

 

"Let the machine get it," she panted, her breath warm on his skin, his fingers on her hips, and she felt it begin, the motion of him inside her, she had missed it, she had wanted it, he wouldn't be angry, she would not, it could wait, until, until,

 

"Oh God, oh God," she whimpered desperately, tilting her hips. "Ned, I'm sorry, oh God—"

 

The machine picked up, but she couldn't even hear the greeting, all she could hear was the rush of blood in her ears, the way he was gasping her name, their release.

 

"Nan, you know that favor Ned owes us? Well, we had something come up this weekend, so can you pick up the kids tomorrow on your way home from work? Thanks."

 

The recorder clicked.

 

Her eyes were closed. She heard the wet sound of him sliding out of her. She had almost no feeling in her lower legs or fingertips, all her blood seemed concentrated and throbbing in the center of her. He supported her as she slipped to the ground, her lips still slightly parted, his hands loosely around her waist instead of cupping her ass as he slammed into her.

 

"Favor?" Ned asked thickly.

 

Her fingers were curled into claws, against his shoulder blades. She spread them, let them rest on his shirt. She had to blink a few times before she could translate what he was saying.

 

"Bess," Nancy said, dragged a hand through her hair. "Nate babysat while you were out of town, so Bess could come over here, and, the kids, and, _damn_..."

 

"So, they'll be... over here?"

 

"Guess so." She leaned forward, let her forehead rest on his chest, and sighed.

 

Ned reached up and ran a hand over her head, let his fingers slip through her hair. "I have a great idea," he said in a low voice, after a few minutes. "Let's go upstairs and I can play the game some more."

 

"You can play the game?" She pouted. "What will I do?"

 

"Oh, I can think of a few things."

 

\--

 

Nancy's mood was black the next day. Entirely, utterly black. Because, despite having had a day off, Ned hadn't restocked their freezer with child-friendly food. Not that either of them had known about the sudden babysitting assignment, but that was beside the point. Her Jag was a two-seater, so she took a cab to work, called her agency and had one of their sedans dropped off to drive home after. She had budgeted plenty of time, but a teleconference had gone long, and now she was standing in the grocery store, wearing a wool suit she desperately wanted to strip from her body and burn, considering two brands of chicken nuggets.

 

"Chicken nuggets, bake some french fries, it's just two nights, you're a darling," Bess had said when Nancy had called her back. So simple.

 

Two nights. One of which was a Friday night. The other, Saturday. And of course Bess would breeze in, not a hair out of place, sometime early Sunday afternoon, to leave Nancy and Ned exhausted and wishing for a real weekend.

 

Or, at least, that was how Nancy had pictured it.

 

"I'll be home later," Ned had said after the perfunctory phone greeting. "Something came up."

 

"You mean one of your friends invited you out."

 

He had hesitated perceptibly, and Nancy had snarled something into the phone, then hung up. She had done how many unspeakably nice things to him last night, how many times, and he had the nerve to do this? Well, be damned if she'd even talk to him before going on the pill. She wished for a second that she hadn't removed the evidence so thoroughly, but it would be easy enough to get her prescription filled again.

 

If she hadn't left it in the Jag.

 

Which she had.

 

"Dammit, dammit, _dammit_," she muttered. Applesauce and chocolate milk and fruit snacks and fruit juice and, what would a kid like for breakfast? What would she like for breakfast? She'd like some damn pancakes. Homemade pancakes. Homemade by her husband who as far as she was concerned would be in the doghouse until he handed over his gold card and/or the keys to his Jag. Banana nut. She tossed some cartons of disturbingly neon yogurt into the cart; no use in having anemic children in her care.

 

Bess was waiting at the door for her. Stephanie's eyes lit up when she saw Nancy; Madison looked drowsy in her fleece coat and stocking cap. Bess supervised the careful latching of car seats into the back of the car, then gave Nancy a hug once the car doors were safely closed.

 

"You look like a storm cloud," Bess said. "I'm sorry, was today a bad day?"

 

"Well, if it's any indication of how he'll behave once we really have kids, I'll never see him again," Nancy said, her eyes still bright with anger. "Anything special I should know?"

 

"Stephanie's just getting over a cold, but she'll be fine," Bess said. "If she says she hurts anywhere, I packed some liquid tylenol. Maddy's been pretty good to put down the past few days, but if she's not, I really don't know what to tell you, unless you want to call my mom and have her sing into the phone. That always seems to work."

 

"I'll try that if I get desperate," Nancy said, and attempted a parting smile.

 

\--

 

By eight o'clock, Nancy's anger at her husband had become a white-hot ball at which she flung epithets every few minutes. She'd had to cook dinner, and keep an eye on them while doing so. Madison was nearly ambulatory, so Nancy strapped her into a high chair early, strapped her into anything to keep her from crawling under coffee tables and into shadowed corners. She'd had to unpack the trunkload of assorted toys and supplies Bess had given her, thank God for the collapsible playpen Bess had left at Nancy's house for when they came over and had no babysitter. Thank God for the Nemo doll which Stephanie seemed content to talk to nonstop. Off-white had been a terrible choice for a couch covering, Nancy felt, seeing Stephanie's small body dwarfed in it, her inexplicably sticky fingers wrapped around a plastic juice cup, eyes bright as she watched one of the many DVDs Bess had packed.

 

Madison was teething and howling.

 

Nancy broke the oddly shaped chicken fingers and french fries into pieces and watched as Madison eyed them suspiciously, then settled on one and brought it none too carefully to her mouth. Half of her meal ended up on the floor. Stephanie said she wasn't hungry after three chicken fingers and half a dozen french fries, and wanted to go watch another DVD, even though the first one wasn't halfway over.

 

She made Stephanie swear she would stay on the couch with Nemo as she carried Madison upstairs, to the antique white changing table, how had it been a good idea to make the nursery a high-ceilinged room upstairs? Oh, yes, it hadn't been her idea at all, had it; if they didn't have a nursery, they could have separate studies, he could have his damn game console in his own room so he could play that damn game she had called in a damn favor to give him and she wouldn't have to listen to it. But no.

 

Madison cooed as Nancy changed her diaper expertly, powder and cream and wipes and fresh diaper covered in some cartoon character Nancy definitely didn't recognize. She'd kept the door cracked as she'd stripped off the business suit from hell, swearing for the tenth time that she'd never wear it again, paranoid that the children would somehow start a fire or fall down the stairs, stick their fingers in the gaping unsafe outlets. Now she was in a fleece sweatshirt and jeans, her hair in a ponytail.

 

"Yeah, baby," Nancy said, looking down at Madison, her voice soft and sweet. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

 

Madison's eyes were set on something in the crib. Bess had left a few of Madison's less popular toys there, so Nancy placed her in the crib and backed tiredly to the rocking chair. She settled in, her weight sinking into the cushion.

 

Madison pulled herself to her feet and extended her arms, howling.

 

Nancy's eyes popped open and she cursed Ned for the thousandth time that night as she lifted Madison out of the crib and propped her on her hip. When she came downstairs Stephanie was digging in her purple backpack and had found a coloring book and a box of overlarge crayons.

 

"All right," Nancy said, putting Madison in the crib and ignoring her howls for a minute. "You want to color?"

 

"Yeah." Stephanie bobbed her head enthusiastically.

 

"'Kay." Nancy brought an old sheet out of the linen closet and spread it on the floor, next to the coffee table, in front of the television. "Right here, okay?"

 

"Chicken too?" Stephanie closed and opened her fists in the direction of the table. Madison's screams somehow grew in pitch. And Nancy realized there would be no way she could watch her regular Friday night crime drama, not with Stephanie's slightly glazed eyes locked on their wide-screen television.

 

Stephanie just never ran out of energy. Never. She played wildly improvised card games with a grubby deck of Old Maid; she wanted to play dress-up with anything and everything in Nancy's closet, and shot her a strangely sophisticated and dubious glance when Nancy ad-libbed a reason they couldn't; she wanted to twirl and dance and sing along with the cartoon characters on the screen. Madison didn't want to stay in the playpen that long, so Nancy would sit with the baby on her lap, Stephanie tugging at her hand or pants leg every five minutes to get her attention, to get her to play.

 

At ten o'clock Nancy had already planned where she would bury Ned's body, assuming he was ever stupid enough to show his face where she could find it again. Madison was cranky, but she took a bottle easily enough, in her footie pajamas, under her own blankets in the crib. Nancy heard Stephanie's voice warbling along with the movie downstairs, and she pulled the papasan cushion into the nursery. Stephanie had napped on it before. She found a few extra warm blankets, then looked over at Madison.

 

Madison was asleep. Nancy stared at her, watching for the rise and fall of her chest, and her own heart started beating again as she found it.

 

After Nancy's firm insistence that they both needed to go to bed, Stephanie acquiesced with poor grace to the turning off of the television. "So, you've slept on the big cushion before. Do you want to sleep in here with your sister? Or if you're feeling like a big girl, we have a big bed in the other room."

 

Stephanie looked down at the big cushion, from the vantage point of Nancy's hip. "Can I watch Nemo?"

 

"It's time for sleep."

 

"Oh. You're going to sleep?"

 

"Yeah. I've had a long day."

 

"Juice?"

 

Nancy put Stephanie down on the floor. "I can go get some juice," she replied. "You gonna lay down?"

 

Stephanie nodded, holding her Nemo doll to her chest. She rubbed a fist over her eyes as Nancy went downstairs and refilled her juice cup.

 

"You remember where the bathroom is," Nancy said, handing her the cup. Stephanie nodded. "I'm going to be just across the hall, okay?"

 

"Okay."

 

"You ready to go to sleep?"

 

"No light?"

 

Nancy looked around. "I'll leave the light in the hallway on. Is that all right?"

 

Stephanie walked to the door of the nursery and peered out, her lower lip pushed out. Then she nodded. "I guess."

 

Nancy sprawled on her back, half-watching the television, in a brushed cotton camisole and flannel pants, waiting for the phone to ring. He was going to call, she knew it, he would call half-sloshed from some bar in downtown Chicago and she would have to go pick him up and she couldn't leave the kids alone, she'd have to bundle them up, the finally sleeping baby and the rambunctious three year old, and they'd see him sloppy drunk and leaning all over her and she'd have to not say anything profane to him, even though that was all she had been thinking all afternoon and night.

 

She wanted to go downstairs and change the alarm code, put the phone off the hook, turn off her cell, and let him sleep on the porch.

 

She flipped through a few dozen channels, settling on a British comedy with a half-hysterical laugh track. First thing in the morning, happy little trip to the park if they had nice weather, and a stop by the friendly local pharmacist.

 

"Nancy?"

 

Stephanie hadn't knocked. She stood half in the doorway, blond hair spilling over her shoulders, Nemo clutched in a fist. Nancy pushed herself up and turned down the volume.

 

"What's wrong, honey?"

 

Stephanie directed a glance over her shoulder, then looked down at the carpet. "Can I stay in here?"

 

"Do you want me to bring the cushion?" Nancy threw back the covers.

 

Stephanie ran over the carpet like she was being pursued and climbed up onto the bed. "Up here?"

__

_Well, not like I'd let Ned sleep in here_, she thought, as she arranged the covers around Stephanie, put Nemo securely in her grasp, put a pillow between them. Stephanie sprawled with her head propped up, taking in the Brits with a carefully serious face, and Nancy tried to hide her smile.

 

Her yawns were echoed by Stephanie until she finally looked over once, and Stephanie was slumped over, her face pressed against Nemo. Nancy took her gently and arranged her a little more comfortably, pulled her under the covers. She settled there with a slight noise and Nancy felt herself drifting off.

 

At the overloud click of the bedroom door Nancy opened her eyes but didn't bother to check the clock. "Babe, I'm so sorry," she heard Ned say, as he shuffled over the carpet, pale shirt gleaming in the moonlight.

 

She shot a glare at him. "Hush," she said, glancing over to make sure Stephanie was still asleep. "Grab some couch, and you'd better be damn glad I'm letting you do that."

 

\--

 

Ned woke to the sound of crying. _Nancy_, he thought blankly, and opened his eyes, the space behind them throbbing slightly.

 

He was facing the back of the couch.

 

He turned over, legs tangled in the blankets, his limbs numbed with cold, and saw Stephanie standing over him.

 

"Hi," she said.

 

"You got downstairs," he said, slowly.

 

Her face puckered in anticipation of punishment. "Can we watch Nemo?"

 

Ned sat up and scrubbed at his face with his palms. "I think we should go check on your sister."

 

"And then watch Nemo? And have breakfast?"

 

He doubted that even at full wakefulness, he could have figured out what she was saying, until finally he guessed "pancakes" and her eyes lit up. "Aunt Nancy said we would have pancakes," she repeated.

 

"Okay, okay," he said, then swept her up and held her to his side. "We'll go get Madison and then have pancakes."

 

"Yay," she said, and clapped her hands.

 

He changed Madison's diaper, put her in a fresh suit with a textured frog on the front, gave her a rattle, but she still didn't seem happy. "Is her bottle stuff downstairs?"

 

Stephanie shrugged an answer as she smacked at the flat toy fastened to the crib. "No bottle anymore."

 

"Juice, then," Ned muttered, and took them both downstairs. He remembered at the last second to spread the old sheet over the table before letting Stephanie settle in with her coloring book and crayons. The last thing he saw was Elmo decorated in a shade of bright blue before he set to work making the pancakes.

 

Banana nut. Man, she was pissed.

 

"Do you like nuts in your pancakes?" he asked Stephanie, and she scrunched her nose in disgust and shook her head. "How about Madison?"

 

Madison's chubby fingers were grasping in Ned's direction. "She likes anything," Stephanie announced.

 

"Maybe some applesauce?"

 

"Sure." Stephanie was connecting the dots in a violent zigzag entirely unrelated to their location.

 

But applesauce wasn't finger food, he realized belatedly, after the high chair was smeared in drying transparent goo. Madison seemed happy enough, though, especially once Ned had given her an unadulterated pancake torn into incredibly small pieces. Stephanie attacked hers with her hands, too, and Ned was a bit wary of giving her syrup.

 

He had just finished the first plate of banana nut, and topped them in whipped cream, when Nancy walked into the kitchen, mild panic in her eyes, her hair askew. She looked around and he saw visible relief on her face at having the children accounted for.

 

"Here," he said, handing her the plate. "I'm sorry I was out so late last night."

 

She didn't say anything, but took her plate to the table and ate her pancakes. While he was making a batch for himself, Stephanie's infinitesimal attention span faltered, and she demanded another viewing of Nemo. Nancy put it on for her and refilled her juice cup, his elbow brushing her arm, and their gazes locked for a minute.

 

"Sorry," he said.

 

The minute he put his food down Madison started attempting to climb out of her seat, so he wiped her face and hands and put her in her playpen. She crawled around, investigating, and he returned to the table after checking to make sure Stephanie's gaze was suitably fixed.

 

"If you can keep an eye on them, I'm gonna take a shower. The pancakes were good," she said grudgingly, pushing her chair back. She scraped a few crumbs off her plate and put it in the sink.

 

He didn't trust himself to make an answer, so he nodded, then settled on the couch to watch the movie with Stephanie. She looked him over, after a few minutes had passed, while some fish on the screen were urgently conferring about something.

 

"Want to play dress up?"

 

"You have to wait until it's cool, okay?" Ned said, handing Madison a few overlarge soft chunks of the inside of a biscuit. She took them happily, crushing them in her fists before trying an experimental bite.

 

The day was breezy and unseasonably warm. A few other families were grouped on weighted quilts, a few couples, in the dappled sunlight in the park. The lake gleamed a few hundred feet away, and Stephanie kept looking at it, asking why they were not wearing their swimsuits, sampling the kids meal they had picked up in addition to the instant picnic meal.

 

"Baby, it's freezing out there," Nancy explained. "Feel how windy it is?"

 

Stephanie was still pouting, blue eyes focused out in the distance where Nancy would not let her go. With a pang Nancy realized that any uninformed observer would think the children theirs; Stephanie's resemblance to Bess was too strong to be mistaken when they were together, but the three of them shared blond hair and blue eyes. Madison's hair was still so wispy as to be indeterminate, her eyes dark like Ned's.

 

He wasn't speaking to Nancy more than necessary, his remarks brief and nonconfrontational, but he'd suggested the picnic, had driven the car, packed everything, and had only left her alone with the kids long enough to take his own shower. Stephanie had balked at rotisserie chicken, but Madison was happy with the steaming pieces Ned had split and allowed to cool on her plate, along with a spoonful of mashed potatoes that Nancy could sense imminent mess in.

 

Ned took a sip of his soda and Madison opened and closed her fists in his direction. Nancy watched as he put his cup down, made sure her juice cup was full, and handed it over. Stephanie was turning in dizzy circles on the grass next to them.

 

The carrying seat came complete with shining flashing noisy toys on a panel easily accessible to Madison's less than graceful movements, and Nancy watched her sleepily. She had only been able to fall into deep uninterrupted sleep once she'd known Ned was home.

 

"I want to go run," Stephanie announced seriously.

 

Ned finished the last bite of his chicken and wiped his hands thoroughly. He darted a glance at Nancy, who was still drowsily watching Madison, then climbed to his feet.

 

"You sure you don't want to play airplane instead?"

 

After a few more listless bites of her food, Nancy swept up the scraps and leftovers, put them into their respective bags, and watched Madison's head tilt in a narcoleptic fit. Ned had Stephanie up on his shoulders and they were swooping in wide circles around the field, Stephanie crowing with laughter, her eyes bright.

 

He really was good with them. Even though he'd left her high and dry the night before, he hadn't said a negative word all day, he'd made pancakes and cleaned up after them and stood guard at the bathroom door for Stephanie, made interested comments about Nemo even during the third time in a row they had watched it. He was keeping out of Nancy's way, too, and she almost wished that he would make some comment.

 

But not while he was being so good with them.

 

Madison moved restlessly and Nancy unhooked the strap holding her in, let her sprawl on her back on the quilt. She grabbed for the pacifier and sucked it contentedly once Nancy popped it into her pink mouth.

 

After twenty more minutes her husband returned to the quilt. Ned was flushed and laughing, but Stephanie's giggles had an edge to them. One minute she was busily tearing blades of grass to shove them into a careful pile; the next, she was sprawled on her back next to her sister, the skin around her mouth red with juice, utterly oblivious.

 

"They're so cute when they're sleeping."

 

"Yeah," Nancy agreed. If circumstances had been different, she would have put her head on his chest, let her hand rest in his.

 

"And nowhere near anything that can play Finding Nemo."

 

"Mmm," she replied.

 

"Why didn't you tell me you were going back on the pill?"

 

He said it in that same conversational tone, so Nancy didn't comprehend the meaning of the words for a few seconds. A few responses filtered through her head, but nothing came out. She shot a quick glance at the children, then looked over at him. The line of his jaw was hard.

 

"I'm not back on it," she said.

 

"I didn't know what I'd do if I came back home, so I stayed out last night. And I know you're mad but that's kind of beside the point."

 

"You didn't want to come home and talk about it?"

 

He shrugged. "Obviously it wasn't important enough for you to talk to me about. And that hurt."

 

She closed her eyes. "It's because I knew how you'd react if I told you that I was going to go do it."

 

"How would I react?"

 

"The way you're acting now," she said. "Angry and hurt."

 

"I'm angry and hurt because you didn't talk to me about it."

 

"That's bull," she said, watching the children for any signs of stirring, and found none. "You want me to get pregnant, even if I don't want to."

 

Ned propped himself up on an elbow, his jaw working silently for a minute. "Okay, when exactly did you tell me you didn't want to do this? And don't make it sound like that's the reason I'm sleeping with you, either, like it's just some duty—"

 

"But that's what it feels like to me!" she hissed, wanting to shout at him. "Something I can't do! And you want a kid so badly, and our life is great right now, for the most part, why can't you be happy with being Stephanie and Madison's uncle?"

 

"Because I didn't know that was where you were drawing the line. What if I decided to have a vasectomy tomorrow, would that be okay with you? For me to just go do it, and not ask how you felt about it?"

 

"You wouldn't get a vasectomy. You want to have children."

 

"That's not the point." He chuckled darkly, shaking his head. "Do you think I care that little for how you feel?"

 

"I think you want this," she said, slowly. "And I want you to be happy."

 

"And I want you to be happy. And this is stupid," he said. "I'm happy with you. I'm happy being with you. Except right now because you're acting like I'm some psychotic jerk who would rape you to have children—"

 

"I never said that."

 

"And you never said you were uncomfortable with the thought of having kids, either."

 

She sighed. "It's not that. I feel like you're disappointed in me every time I tell you I haven't gotten pregnant yet."

 

"It's not a race!"

 

"Yeah, but we have the—" she dropped her voice. "The darn nursery. That just sits there, across from our bedroom, reminding me. Seeing you with Stephanie and Madison and the way you look at me after. The money you have sitting in the bank waiting for it to happen."

 

He let himself fall onto his back, ran his hands through his hair. "I didn't do those things to make you feel uncomfortable. And I told you from the beginning that if you wanted to redecorate the nursery, we could."

 

"But you put it in there without asking me anything."

 

Ned closed his eyes. "Think back. What color was that room when we went through the house?"

 

Nancy closed her eyes, furrowed her brow in impatience. "Same color it is now."

 

"Mom saw it and said my cousin was giving away her baby furniture, and it would look absolutely gorgeous in that room, and she would not take no for an answer."

 

Despite herself, Nancy smiled, admitting the truth in that statement. When Edith set her mind to something, it was the devil to dissuade her. "And you told her it was okay."

 

"I could have said hell no and it would have made no difference. And, Nan, I can't help it. I do like kids. I would like to have some of my own. But maybe we never will, and I'll be content to be Stephanie and Madison's uncle, and that room will just be theirs when they come over. Damn, half the stuff in there is theirs anyway."

 

She glanced over at him, her face turning serious again. "I just keep feeling this pressure," she said, her voice small. "From you, from almost everyone. When are we going to have a baby, when are we going to give my dad and your parents their grandchild, grandchildren, when, when. I like my job, Ned. I like to go there and feel productive. I've never, ever said I married you to get barefoot and pregnant."

 

"I never said that's what I expected of you."

 

She sighed. "But I still feel like you do."

 

Ned was quiet for a minute. Then he pushed himself up on his elbows and looked at her. "Do you think I want you miserable?" he asked softly.

 

She shook her head.

 

"Then talk to me," he said. "Tell me when I'm doing something that's making you unhappy. Because I'm smart, but sometimes I can be pretty dumb. Especially when I don't know there's something wrong."

 

"Okay."

 

He shook his head. "So you haven't started back on it?"

 

She shook her head. "I threw them away without even taking one. Because…" She looked away. "I don't know. I think I felt uncomfortable having them and you not knowing. And I knew you would be angry."

 

"Only because you didn't tell me."

 

She shrugged. "I don't believe you."

 

"Do you think I'm going to divorce you if we find out, for whatever reason, that we can't have children?"

 

"No, because you could still adopt."

 

"Why would I want to do that if you didn't?"

 

"Ahh," she said, raising her index finger. "Yet you watch football."

 

"That's it," he announced, and rolled over onto her, wrestling her into submission. "Say you like football."

 

"I do, I do!" she cried, laughing. "When you're playing."

 

He relented slightly. "Good point."

 

She looked up into his eyes. "You don't hate me for this."

 

"I hate the idea of you keeping secrets from me," he said, his eyes clear. "I hate the idea that this isn't a partnership. That you're not comfortable enough with me to tell me when something's wrong, even when it's upsetting you this much."

 

"I am comfortable with you."

 

Ned searched her eyes for a minute, then sat up, releasing her. "Don't buy any more pregnancy tests."

__

_you can stop buying the tests_

 

She blinked, and Jean's voice was gone, but its taste remained. "Why?"

 

"Stop stressing yourself out," he said. "If you go get some more pills, I want you to tell me. If you decide you'd be happier as a barmaid in Germany, tell me."

 

She batted her eyelashes at him. "Besides as an idea for a Halloween costume, I doubt it."

 

"I'm serious," he said. "I won't bring it up again. I won't ask, I won't pout at you when we can't have sex for a week, I just..." he shrugged. "I'll just be Uncle Ned."

 

"Just?" she repeated, a bloom of anger rising in her.

 

"For as long as you want to be Aunt Nancy."

 

\--

 

He made dinner. Hamburgers for the grownups and hot dogs for the little ones. French fries, of course; Nancy wondered how Bess ever managed to set her eyes on a french fry without gagging. Afterwards he microwaved s'mores which Stephanie found amazing, made hot cocoa with milk and gave her a dose that was cooled nearly to room temperature, and rocked Madison on his knee as they sat through a fifth viewing of Nemo. Nancy could hear the insistent chipper voices chiming in from the relative safety and comfort of her own head, in time with the images on the screen.

 

Ned leaned over and kissed Nancy on the cheek. Madison was busy trying to eat the hem of his shirt. Stephanie had pulled a bright jangling telephone on wheels from some dark region of hell and was dragging it along behind her as she made an unchanging circuit of the living room.

 

"I think bedtime should be in exactly thirty minutes," Nancy murmured into his ear.

 

"That sounds great," he replied.

 

With a quilt and a flashlight, the quilt stretched between the back of the rocking chair and the rail of the crib, the lights off, the four of them sat in the dark in the nursery, hiding from what Stephanie called an evil dragon. Or at least Ned was pretty sure that was what she was saying. Madison was gurgling in Nancy's lap, pulling at her shirt, and Nancy looked down at her and said clearly, "You know better, if you want juice you can say so."

 

"Ned go fight the dragon," Stephanie demanded, and pushed at his side with deceptive strength for her size. He acquiesced, but not before he found the blankets Nancy had put around Stephanie the night before, draped them back over the papasan cushion, crept back out of the room. Madison was already yawning, her eyes drooping. After Ned had retreated to the study and spent ten minutes playing his game, Nancy walked in, her hair falling loose over her shoulders.

 

"They're asleep," she said, yawning. "For right now."

 

Ned tapped a button a few more times and something exploded quietly on the television screen. "I'm sorry I left you with them last night instead of coming home and talking it over with you."

 

"I'm sorry you did that too," Nancy said, a half smile on her lips, her arms wrapped around her waist. "I told Bess that if this was how you were going to be if we had kids..."

 

"Yeah," he said. "It was immature of me."

 

"How drunk did you get?"

 

"Not that drunk," he said. "I mostly played pool. And tried to stop being angry but it took a damn long time."

 

"Yeah," she replied, softly. "I didn't know."

 

"But it's all right." He stood and turned off his game console, leaving them in the faint artificial blue darkness. "We're good now, right?"

 

She met his gaze. "Depends. You ever had quiet makeup sex?"

 

\--

 

"So, let me guess, there's no way you two will take care of them during the wedding." Bess looked back and forth between Nancy and Ned.

 

They exchanged a glance, and Ned shrugged first. "I'm cool with it," he said, too casually, a smile twitching the corners of his mouth.

 

"Did you even come home?"

 

Nancy rushed in. "Yeah, he did, and he was great, as usual. He just has the knack with them."

 

Bess smiled. "All right," she said. "In return I'll come stay with you next time Ned's out of town, Nan. Even bring the kids over."

 

"That's not repayment, that's double punishment," Nancy groaned.


	3. Chapter 3

He picked her up from work one night, and she fastened her seatbelt as he shifted the car into reverse, then sped off, throwing her back into the seat. She smiled at him, and he smiled back, easily.

 

"So when are you going to tell me where we’re going?"

 

He chuckled. "I’m not. You’re going to figure it out, Miss Detective."

 

Nancy twirled a lock of long red-blond hair around her fingertip and looked out the window, into the growing dark. Then she pouted at him. "Not even a hint?"

 

He shifted gears and she was thrown back into her seat again.

 

At an Italian place in downtown Chicago, he left her in the idling car and came back out with a small pizza box and a bag. He handed her the bag, which was warm.

 

"Mind if I look inside?"

 

He smiled. "Nah. Go ahead."

 

She opened the pizza box first and saw the cheesesticks, and then took a deep inhalation of the bag. She shot him a querying glance, then raised an eyebrow as he turned into a driveway.

 

Into a drive-in theater.

 

"So what’s playing, Nickerson?"

 

"Anything other than Nemo."

 

Nancy looked down. "We used to do this all the time," she said softly. "You got my favorite, didn’t you."

 

"Yup. I’m gonna go get us some drinks," he said, unbuckling his seatbelt.

 

Nancy leaned over and grabbed his collar, pulling him toward her so she could plant a kiss on his lips. "This is great," she said. "Thanks."

 

"Sure thing."

 

Nancy missed Ned’s old sedan then, the first car he ever had, the one they always took to the drive-in because it seated six and she could slide across the seat, almost into his lap, while they watched the movies. They split the cheesesticks like they always had, and split each other’s subs, sipped each other’s drinks, while watching the movie. But they had both seen it, so during the lull times they talked.

 

She cleaned her fingers meticulously, not wanting to get grease on his seats, with napkins and the moisture condensing on the cup holding her drink. The couple on screen was leaning close to each other, but Nancy couldn’t have cared less. She shot a glance sideways and found Ned gazing back at her.

 

"You know what I always wanted to do, back then, back when we did this all the time?" Nancy finished cleaning her fingers and tossed the napkin into their discard bag.

 

"What did you always want to do?" Ned asked softly.

 

Nancy hitched up her skirt and swung onto his lap, her knees planted on either side of his hips. "Something like this," she murmured into his ear.

 

"We’d never have seen a single movie," Ned said softly, his breath warm against her skin, resting his hands lightly on her hips. "I like, though."

 

Nancy caught the glint of lightning in the sky as she bent her head to his, trailing kisses down his neck. "I’ve seen this one before," she whispered.

 

"I have too."

 

"It’s about to rain," she whispered. "And then we won’t be able to see anything."

 

"I’ll be able to see what I need to see," he whispered roughly, and Nancy laughed.

 

\--

 

Occasionally Nancy and Ned held poker nights where not much poker was played. Especially when the girls were along, the die-hard poker players wanted nothing more than fresh beers and to be left alone.

 

Which was how, at two-thirty the following Saturday morning, Nancy found herself on their back deck with quite a few of the smoking wives and girlfriends, and even some who had just come out for fresh air and gossip.

 

Ned was just drawing himself a glass of water when he saw his wife's reddish-gold head passing through the glass doors out to the patio. She was carrying a fresh strawberry daiquiri, and her face was flushed, from excitement or intoxication he couldn't tell.

 

The silence was deafening when he pushed back the sliding glass door. Nancy met his eyes brightly, very brightly. "Hey," she chirped in his direction.

 

He knew he couldn't walk straight and that occasionally he saw double of things which really had no business being two, but their sudden, startled silence irritated him. "Hey. Just..." he waved his hands vaguely. "Sorry."

 

He closed the door and heard one of the girls, a brunette who preferred long island iced teas, ask a question about the water garden Nancy had planned, designed, and kept detailed sketches of in their study.

 

He smiled.

 

Ned made his rounds, watched the serious expressions of the players, the eager, almost fawning expressions of the guys caught racing each other on his game console. They were fellow members of his frat, the four of them, overawed because they remembered when he had been their president.

 

Their suddenly celibate president, who would drink himself to sleep, and maybe, if the game had been especially bad one, would tell them about the one who had gotten away.

 

He took a break then, from their bright eyes and the gravelly sound of bets being placed, and splashed cold water on his face, suddenly craving, needing, another beer.

 

He had been different then. But not that much different. Convinced, somehow, that he could make himself good enough for her, better than he had before. That if he had hurt her, that he would never hurt her again; that if she was so afraid of being tied to him, he would assuage every single doubt she had, from the money to the freedom he would allow her to keep...

 

And when the last guests were saying their goodbyes a while later, that was still on his mind. He had one arm around her shoulders and the other hand holding a beer can as they waved to the last couple. Her skin felt a little sticky under his fingertips, from her being in the night air so long.

 

She was giggling as they went upstairs, bumping into each other, the house dark and still full of the ghosts and silence of recent human occupancy. He could hear the harsh metallic buzz of the television set, still on downstairs, but he closed the door behind them and pulled his shirt over his head.

 

"Nan, I love you so much," he said.

 

She giggled again, hiccuped, stepped out of her jeans. "Just because I suggested we buy that extra box of Triscuits."

 

"No, no, that's not it," he said, stumbling a few times as he attempted to peel himself out of his own jeans. "I mean, that was an excellent, wonderful suggestion."

 

"Thank you for saying so." She beamed, then slipped into their bed.

 

"Have I told you what it was like when you were gone?"

 

He watched a look of discomfort pass over her face in the near darkness. "It was bad," she said. "It was bad for both of us."

 

"But you don't know how it was for me."

 

She reached up and ran a hand over his bare shoulder, and he took it into his own. "Do you need to tell me?" she asked, blinking slowly.

 

"Yeah," he said thickly. He ran a hand over his hair. "You're drunk, aren't you."

 

She nodded. "Yeah. It's been a while. But I think I'm good and fucked up. And I'm sleepy and I—" she expelled her breath quickly. "I have this feeling you're about to make me feel bad."

 

"I just love you so much."

 

Nancy closed her eyes to block the view of his gleaming eyes in the darkness. "I love you too," she whispered.

 

"I did everything I could think of," he said to her. "Everything. I studied so hard, made better grades than I ever had before. Almost beat the running yard record at Emerson. I... you remember, I interned at the firm, before, and you were investi- invest- doing a case nearby, and your father said it was a good place to work? I went back there, found the mentor I had, worked my ass off for him in case he somehow knew your father. I made so much money there, was promoted so much that I'm the second youngest guy to be this high in the company.

 

"And I did this all for you. Because for a while I thought that somehow you would know, you would sense it, and you would come back to me. Because I would finally somehow be good enough. But you didn't, and I knew I had to keep going, I had to do more, be more, have more, because I wanted you back, and I knew that was what it would take."

 

Nancy drew in a trembling breath and let her fingers drift to over his mouth, to stop his speech. She was shaking her head as he kissed her fingertips and pushed them away.

 

"Nancy, I rebuilt myself, I remade myself, because I wasn't good enough for you. And we were so young—"

 

She shook her head, her breath trembling still. "Ned, you've always been good enough for me. Better than good enough for me. I don't deserve you, I never have, I've never been good enough for you, I never meant—"

 

He stilled her mouth with his thumb. "We were young," he repeated gently. "We were still kids. And back then I could, and did, love you more than life itself, but that wasn't enough."

 

Nancy buried her face against his chest. "Please stop," she whispered.

 

"Some mornings I wake up and I don't know how it happened, how someday it was enough and then I found you there in Hong Kong. Some days I think it was a dream and that I'm still building a castle in the sky that will never happen.

 

"And we're different now, and..." He ran his hand over her trembling back. "You're different now too, Nan. You're not the person who left me. You won't hurt me like that again."

 

"No," she breathed in affirmative response, reaching up to wipe her wet face. "I won't hurt you again."

 

"Because after everything, after this life I built for us, I just can't. This is it, the final, the end for me. I can't do it again. I almost killed myself to be right for you, to undo everything I thought I did wrong, that could have made you leave. And I knew then, and I know now, that the only way I could ever let you go, the way that would hurt me so badly that I could never do this again, would be if you were with someone else."

 

"Ned," she murmured, pained.

 

"Not Jean," he said, running his thumb over her face. "If you ever could do that again, but Nancy, you won't, you won't be with him again. You can't. You have to tell me I'm the only one, that it was enough, that what I've given you is enough—"

 

"It is," she responded, reaching up to touch his face. "Oh God, you've given me more than I ever asked for, so much more, and you took me back even after you knew, even after you understood what Jean did to me, after I hurt you, and I can never, never ask for anything more from you."

 

"Nan," he mumbled, running his fingertips down her bare arm, to her warm waiting skin. "This is it, this is how I wanted it to end," he said. "Everything is right, like this, with you in this house, in my bed, in love with me. Because I want to stop feeling this way."

 

"It does end this way," she said, rolling over onto her back, sliding her fingers over his face. "Stop fighting. And stop... Ned, you are enough, you were enough, even back then, you've always been the only one and I was just too stupid to see it."

 

"You're not stupid."

 

She closed her eyes and nestled against him. "I was a stupid fool and you built a beautiful house for me," she said, her voice slow. "But it's not the beautiful house I'm here for. It's not the grades, or the money, the promotions, the matching Jaguars. I'm here because you are here. And wherever you are, that's where I will be."

 

Ned leaned down and kissed her deeply.

 

"You don't owe me anything," she told him softly, her hand still in his hair. "I owe you everything."

 

"No," he said, shaking his head, and rested his forehead against hers.

 

"I love you," she whispered, brushing her lips against his. "And I'm too tired to talk anymore."

 

He was, too, once she drew his face down to hers, once she pulled him into the circle of her arms.

 

\--

 

After church was Sunday dinner and this week it was with his parents. Nancy eyed Edith, Ned's revelation about her influence over the nursery burning like guilty knowledge in her head. So she was the one responsible for the furniture and the daily reminder that she hadn't yet produced any grandchildren. Nancy took a sip of water.

 

"Let's go shopping today," Edith said, smiling. "There are some really good sales going on."

__

_Is she going to drag me to a baby store? Maternity? Ask me intensely probing questions about my fertility cycles and how often I drag her son into bed with me?_

 

"Okay," Nancy replied, smiling, acutely aware of Ned's gaze on her.

 

"And there's a really good game going on today," James said.

 

"Well, we'll try to get Ned back to catch the end of it," Edith said. "But I'm not promising anything."

 

"What?" Ned said, protesting.

 

"I was thinking about buying some things for the house, and I wanted to see how you liked them."

 

"I trust Nancy's judgement," Ned said, shooting his wife a beatific glance, but she responded with a desperate flutter of her eyelashes.

 

"Even a grill?"

 

"Outdoor?" Ned asked.

 

As a compromise Edith faded the game into the back speakers so Ned could listen to it while she and Nancy talked. "Has Ned been looking at any grills?"

 

"He wants this monstrosity with cabinets and a plastic cover," Nancy admitted. The only stores she could get Ned to go into involved hardware, electronics, sports memorabilia, lingerie, or the occasional male clothing store. Asking him to go into Pottery Barn was like directly attacking his masculinity.

 

They left him happily settled in front of a wide flat-panel television set, ostensibly to judge its surround sound quality as it showed the game. Nancy noted Edith's longing glance into a toy store. "I'll be back in just a minute," she said. "Have to buy something for my grand-nephew."

 

Nancy wandered back to the stuffed animals and looked them over. She saw a watergun that Ned would have tormented her with for hours. A my-sized Barbie dress up kit was on sale, and Nancy almost called Bess to find out if Stephanie already had one. Play tents, sleeping bags, growling beasts, articulate action figures. She spotted a small plastic bottle and thought about it for a minute, then laughed and took it to the checkout.

 

A familiar profile passed in front of the plate glass window, and Nancy rushed out to grab Ned's shoulder. "Here," she said, pressing the bag into his hand. "Don't look."

 

His gaze traveled between the bag and her face. "All right," he said. "I'm going to the mattress store."

 

"Okay."

 

Nancy and Edith walked through countless clothing stores, and she noticed that Edith kept showing her generously designed tops, doubtless to accommodate any sudden weight gain in the future. After Nancy had rebelliously run her fingers over a silk camisole hanging near the front of the store, she had an idea. "What do you think of these?" she asked, pointing to a pair of sandblasted denim low-rise flares with a metallic belt cinched around the waist.

 

Edith laughed. "Not for me," she said.

 

Your son sure likes them, she thought, but didn't say anything. "Ned's at the mattress store," she said. "Should we grab him and make him approve the grill?"

 

Ned was stretched out contentedly on a display model, a broad smile on his face which widened as he caught sight of Nancy and Edith. "Hey," he said. When Nancy stepped close to his side, he grabbed her hand and pulled her down to the mattress with him, against his side. "How do you like this?"

 

Her eyes sparkled. "Nice," she said.

 

Ned sighed dramatically. "Not me, the mattress," he replied, arm still curved around her waist. "This place closes at six, come back by and pick me up." He closed his eyes.

 

Nancy rolled over onto her back and tilted her head, testing. "It is nice," she said.

 

"I'll tell them to deliver one to the house tomorrow," Ned replied, his eyes still closed.

 

Nancy looked over and saw Edith studying the various pillows on display, then put her mouth close to her husband's ear and whispered something. He smiled, then opened his eyes and sat up.

 

"Thanks a million," he said to the salesperson. "Excellent mattress. Definitely gets my endorsement. The little lady here even wanted to take it for a test drive."

 

Nancy punched his arm but smiled a little at the shocked look on Edith's face.

 

Ned's hand stayed in hers as they walked down the aisle, and had almost reached the store Edith had in mind when Nancy turned off. "I want to go in here," she announced, with Ned still trailing along behind her. "Edith?"

 

Ned breathed a silent prayer, and his features showed his relief as Edith begged off, saying she would be browsing in the next store down. Nancy made some sweet reply and tugged Ned in behind her.

 

Once they were alone, Nancy spread her arms. "See anything you like?"

 

He knew her sizes. While she went to find some more thongs, to replace the ones he had recently ruined, he lingered in the more expensive section, remembering what she had and what he liked. He selected an entire outfit, down to stockings and high heeled slippers, and brought them to her.

 

"You sure?"

 

He hesitated, following their usual script. "I don't know. Maybe you should try them on."

 

"That sounds like a good idea." She reached up to kiss his cheek. "Give me ten minutes."

 

"Ten?" he responded into her ear, her flesh warmed by his breath. "Sure you can't speed it up?"

 

"Just don't make it too obvious," she replied, shooting him an impeccable smile as she found a saleswoman.

 

Ten minutes and twenty seconds later he ducked behind the door she held open for him, and it clicked decisively behind him. She stood in the muted lighting, hands on her hips. "So?"

 

Strapless black lace bustier trimmed in red, dangerously low in the front, matching thong, garters hanging from the bustier and holding up sheer black stockings trimmed in red.

 

"Damn, I have good taste," he said, stepping forward, kissing her.

 

She smiled, her eyes closed. "Once we have kids we won't be able to do this anymore," she said.

 

He leaned back and gazed at her face, his brow furrowing, his palms warm on her skin, stroking her neck. "You've never said that before. It's always been if, not when..."

 

He kissed her again, insistent, and she responded, a slow wash of tears prickling faintly behind her eyelids for a moment. "I think there are security cameras in the dressing rooms," she said, as he unbuckled his belt.

 

"Well, let's give the security guard something to talk about," Ned responded.

 

He had her pinned against the wall, stockings like silk against his hips, her ankles crossed behind his back, one shoe on the floor, tags biting into her flesh, her breathing in harsh gasps, when they heard a knock at the door. "Doing okay in there?" the saleswoman called.

 

"Great," Nancy managed, her fingernails sharp even through the fabric of his shirt, her breath on his neck. Ned didn't miss a beat.

 

"Everything fit all right?"

 

"Everything fits great," she said, then moaned under her breath as he smiled and shifted inside her, his hands sliding down her skin to hold her closer to him.

 

"You don't need to go up a size or anything?"

 

"No, I think my husband's gonna love this just the way it is," she said, head tilted back, brow furrowed, her lips rounding into a long silent scream.

 

"You bet," he gasped, feeling her tremble as they came.

 

After a long moment, his forehead against hers, she loosed her legs and let them fall, and he released her slowly. She licked her lips, then stepped out of the remaining shoe, started to unfasten the stockings.

 

"You know, you don't even need to buy the thong," he pointed out, tucking his shirt back in. "Eliminate the middleman."

 

She carefully folded the stockings and put them back in the package, then stepped so close he could feel her chest rise and fall with her breath. "Yeah, but what if your business has some couples function," she said, her fingers tracing the curve of his cheek, "and I come wearing this under some gorgeous dress..."

 

"Definitely forget the thong then," he said, his tongue flicking out to trace the curve of her earlobe.

 

"Knowing you, you'd have me wet in fifteen minutes," she replied, her eyes closed, breath trembling.

 

"Ten," he replied, reaching down to unfasten the bustier. "Doesn't this place have underwear for the impatient?"

 

She laughed at his description. "This is more for the seduction," she said. "Are you complaining?"

 

"Not really," he said. "You're worth the wait."

 

"Besides," she said, tossing the bustier onto the bench and standing there in her incredibly brief underwear, "I like it when you rip my underwear off. Makes me feel powerful."

 

"Makes me feel powerful," he returned, stepping close to her, sliding his fingers along the waistband. "It would be a shame to ruin these when we haven't even paid for them yet."

 

Her eyes sparkled. "Maybe I should buy ten, in anticipation."

 

He sighed. "I guess we should go find my mom."

 

"And tell her we have photographic evidence that we are committed to making her a grandchild." Ned stuck his tongue out at her, and she laughed, then dug in her purse for a tissue.

 

"I've marked you," she said, wiping her lipstick off his skin.

 

He reached down and traced lightly over the ink on her hip. "Yeah," he replied. She rested her hand over his for a minute, and caught his glance as it swept over her. She blushed.

 

"You got nothing to be ashamed of," he said softly.

 

She ran her fingertips over his hand for a moment, then reached over and tugged her bra back on. "Go," she said. "I have a few more things I want to pick up, your mom's next door. I'll meet you where the grills are."

 

His hand slid up to the small of her back, where he held her as he kissed her cheek softly. "Okay," he murmured. "You said when."

 

She put her arms up around his neck and held him for a long moment, skin tingling as he traced his fingers over her spine. "When," she repeated. "You're too good with kids to not ever be a dad."

 

He placed the warmth of his palm over her stomach, then kissed her and walked out.

 

Edith's eyes darted to the overlarge bag of lingerie swinging from Nancy's hand, but she made no comment. Ned was discussing BTUs and charcoal versus propane with the salesman when she walked up. His hand found hers without benefit of a glance in her direction.

 

"I remember when Ned used to burn the burgers," Edith said, and Nancy shot her a warm, remembering glance.

 

"Hey," Ned protested, in the middle of his discussion. "That was a long time ago. Now I'm great at it."

 

"Sure you are." She patted his shoulder. "Actually, you are. I guess that cooking class did wonders."

 

He looked like he was about to say something else, then stopped short. "Sure did," he said, then returned his attention to the salesman.

 

\--

 

"They'll deliver tomorrow."

 

Nancy turned her head and looked in his direction. "Who?"

 

Ned was sitting on the couch, in front of the television, half watching. He had his laptop on his lap and was checking his email via the wireless internet installed throughout the house. Nancy was sitting at the table, going through transcripts with a highlighter, in a black silk dressing gown.

 

"The mattress guys," Ned replied.

 

"I didn't think you were serious," she said, after a beat. "Are they going to put a mirror on the ceiling too?"

 

Ned opened his mouth and was about to respond seriously when he caught the expression on her face, and laughed. "I'm sure they would, complete with a hidden video camera."

 

"Hmm," she said. "You gonna be home to let them in? We have a task force meeting tomorrow that I'm sure I can't beg out of."

 

Ned clicked on something on his screen, and then his eyes widened. "As long as it's before lunch," he said. "I'll call them and make sure."

 

"What are you looking at?" she asked, capping her highlighter.

 

"Checking my work email," he replied. "We have a big meeting Tuesday."

 

Nancy stood, stretched her arms over her head, conscious of his gaze on her. "Well, if I'd known we really were getting a new mattress, I might have worn something different."

 

His brow furrowed. "I have some guys coming out to start doing some landscaping tomorrow too," he said, watching as she approached him. "They're going to get rid of that dead tree in the backyard. What would you be wearing?"

 

"Something other than this," she said, unzipping the gown and letting it fall at her feet. The black satin bra shone in the low light, the front clasped by a silver chain that ended in a large crystal just over her belly button. Her underwear fastened in the same fashion, in chains at her hips which fell to her knees.

 

He lifted his laptop and placed it on the couch beside him, without ever taking his eyes off her. "Hello, harem dominatrix," he said in a low voice.

 

The swing of the chains was hypnotic as he followed her up the stairs. He stared at the point just below the small of her back, where the chains joined in a T, gleaming on her bare skin, and his physical response was immediate. He started stripping when they reached the head of the stairs, and was naked before they ever entered the bedroom.

 

She crouched above him, satin between her grinding hips and his erection, as she let the crystal trail over his chest. He hooked a finger between her breasts and pulled, loosing the chain, and she pulled the bra over her head. He rolled her nipples between his fingers and she closed her eyes, her mouth falling open.

 

"Lay down," he said, stilling her hands as she reached for the chains fastened over her hips. She stretched out beside him and he pulled her on top of him, her back to his front, and opened her legs. She slid down until the satin was against him again, and he closed his eyes, feeling the motion of her hips above his, his heart beating fast against her back, his hands cupping her breasts.

 

He reached down and tugged the thong up so that the chain slipped between her legs, and she let out a startled, orgasmic moan. She opened her legs even wider and pushed herself down until he was holding it taut, and then she enfolded the length of him with her wet lips as she ground against the chain, her movements growing more frantic, her fingers sliding over his erection, holding him against her stroking skin.

 

"Nan," he gasped, as a shudder shook him. Her head was back and she was moaning, and the sound of it was wet, her flesh was wet, he wanted her... "Nan, are you about to come?"

 

"Yes," she gasped out, and he gasped as she slipped her wet fingers, wet with her arousal, over the tip of his erection.

 

"Sit up," he said, and pushed her up until her bare back was visible, his fingers still hooked around the sides of her panties. "Fuck," he breathed.

 

Her fingers were shaking as she unclasped the sides and, her lips still enfolding him, drew the chain up, between her legs, against her clit and his erection, and he almost came then, the wet slide of metal between them. She pushed herself up and her clit licked his shaft like a tiny tongue, up over the tip, and she was so close that as she mounted him the first of her spasms began, up inside, and he was so close, his fingertips digging into her hips, the sound of her scream, the throb of her around him, he came, shaking, her orgasm clenching his, the unfamiliar angle of her hips, "My God," he breathed, and he wanted her, wanted to lose everything, as she sobbed out his name.

 

She lifted her hips and rolled off him, skin flushed, fingers trembling. She sat on the edge of the bed and leaned down until her chest was pressed against her upper thighs, her arms around her knees, head bowed. He moved and heard the silver sound of the chain slipping off the bed, onto the floor, and it made him shiver. A long moment passed before he could marshal the concentration to sit up, but he finally managed it, then reached for her and slid a palm down the curve of her back. She let out a slow breath, then turned her head to look at him through the strands of hair falling over her face. He pushed those aside and her eyes gleamed in the dark, her knuckles white with pressure against her skin.

 

She climbed up on the bed and he heard the sibilant sound of another chain falling to the carpet, and caught the nearly imperceptible shudder she felt in response. He pulled the covers up around them both and held her to his side, ran his hand over her hair in sleep-clumsy strokes.

 

He felt her relax, then reach up to cup a hand around the line of his jaw, stroking her thumb over his cheek, the thin layer of sweat still in the press of her flesh against his. He closed his eyes and she pressed a kiss against his mouth, then turned in his arms, back against his front again, his arms still curved over her, and he could smell the faint scent of her hair as she nestled into him.

 

\--

 

She wondered if Ned could still feel it as a textured burn between his legs, as she imagined it felt to her, while she stared up at the ceiling of the office.

 

"He said it was his mother who suggested it," Nancy said. "Is that normal?"

 

"That his mother would have suggested it?"

 

"That he would blame her for something that was ticking me off. Shift it to someone else."

 

"Maybe. Do you think he did that?"

 

She shrugged. "I'd rather believe it was Edith," she admitted. "But he did have the bank accounts, and those, well, we could have ten kids all safely go to Ivy League schools on what's in the fund."

 

Dr Strathman steepled his fingers. "Ned had some pretty serious stuff going on mentally while you were gone," he said. "If he hadn't been as strong as he was, those things... the nursery, the bank account, those would have served as points where he could have a psychotic break and truly imagine that he was with you, and that he had children with you, and that everything was like you say he wanted it to be. But that didn't happen."

 

The lack of surprise in her eyes told him that she had considered that. "But he's not crazy."

 

He answered the faint question in her voice. "He's not crazy. If he were someone else, he might have been."

 

"Why didn't he go on and find someone else?" She looked away from him then, and started picking at a loose thread on the couch. "I can't—" she shook her head. "If I'd been unattached and seen someone like that, that handsome, independent, that together, I would have snatched him up."

 

"The wedding. The one on the beach. The same reason you didn't see yourself as unattached."

 

She bowed her head and chuckled softly. "I kept thinking about it too," she admitted. "Sometimes I think that maybe while Jean was with me that I would just disassociate and go back out to the beach and remember that night. Like a little piece of me that would never belong to him."

 

"It's a nice thought."

 

"I don't know if it's true." She shook her head suddenly. "If I hadn't said yes maybe he would be happier with someone else."

 

Dr Strathman spread his hands. "There is no point to that."

 

"I want him to be happy," she mumbled.

 

"How's your sex life with him?"

 

Her fingers unintentionally clenched slightly on the couch, the throb slightly more acute. "Intense," she said. "Satisfying."

 

"Do you have flashbacks?"

 

"No," she said, too quickly. "Not during."

 

"Is there any particular thing that triggers it?"

 

She fought to keep her hands still. "No particular thing. Lots of things. Almost anything. And then some days nothing. Sometimes I wake up and I think he's in the house..."

 

\--

 

"He's here."

 

Ned was still half asleep when he heard Nancy's whisper, and as he opened his eyes and stared up at the ceiling, still shrouded in blue-grey shadow, waiting for it to come into focus, he could hear her panicked breath. She touched his face and he turned it toward her, mutely.

 

He had never seen that expression in her eyes before. Gooseflesh prickled over his skin.

 

"Who's here?" he whispered through a suddenly dry mouth.

 

She darted her wide-eyed gaze to the doorway. "Downstairs," she breathed. "Don't leave me here."

 

Still moving slowly, he pushed back the covers and stood, then extended a hand to her. She looked down at the carpet, shaking her head slightly, and her fear touched him. He held himself steady and held out his arms to her, and she clung to him, wrapped securely around his waist.

 

"Downstairs," she repeated, her face against his neck.

 

He was reminded of his cousins, as they methodically checked every room, her neck craned and twisting so she could see every shadowed corner. Wide-eyed five year olds who were convinced something lurked in the closet or under the bed or in the kitchen pantry. But here he could feel it, the sudden nervous twitch that sparked between them, it was the windows; she had told him about the night when Jean had come back to claim her, the sudden noise, the face at the window, and his pulse was impossibly fast whenever he even caught his own reflection.

 

"There's no one here," he murmured, drained of the thin nervous energy that had steeled his limbs.

 

"Are you—" she bit off her words, her face still close against his.

 

"You okay?" He shifted her weight.

 

"The door's locked, right?" she murmured.

 

Stifling a hasty reply, he nodded and felt the tension leach off a bit more.

 

"Take me back to bed."

 

Her muscles were still tight and tense until he locked the bedroom door behind them. She scrambled onto the bed after he released her, her feet having never touched the floor during their entire tour. He caught her movement out of the corner of his eyes, but dismissed it, his body weighted and tired.

 

She had taken off her nightgown. He knew that as he felt her kiss his cheek, the warmth of her bare skin radiating against his. When she slid her palms down to his hips and started tugging at his boxers, he opened his eyes again.

 

"Make love to me," she whispered, catching his gaze.

__

_i can hear his voice_

 

His entire body clenched in a convulsive shudder that his previous fear could not touch. He reached up and took her face into his hands, holding her at arm's length even as she tried to move to kiss him, and searched her eyes, afraid to speak. All he could feel was her desperation.

 

"Lay back down," he whispered, his voice not his own.

 

She obeyed him, opening her legs, her eyes locked on his face, but he rolled her onto her stomach, still unable to speak. He rested his palms flat on her back, rising and falling softly with her breath, for a few minutes, staring at nothing. She drew breath a few times, as though about to speak, but didn't.

 

He traced his palms down over her skin, then massaged her shoulders gently. He went over her entire back, up to the back of her neck, until her weight was heavy against the mattress, the pulse he could feel under his fingertips slower. When he was finished he thought her asleep, but she turned her face and gave him a tiny smile, the first he had seen since she had woken him.

 

She nudged him onto his back and pulled off his boxers, then returned the favor, her smaller fingertips digging where his could almost reach, and he wanted to melt into the bed underneath him. He wanted to sleep, but some close relative of dread still lingered in the back of his throat, and when she retreated he turned over, looking up into her face again.

 

"I'm sorry," she breathed.

 

He sat up and took her into his arms, her bent knees cradling his waist, her face against his shoulder. "Don't be sorry," he murmured. "It's not your fault."

 

"Yes it is," she mumbled against his skin, her breath warm. "Ned..."

 

"Shut up," he whispered roughly, leaving one arm curved around her back as he stroked one palm over her cheek, sliding his fingers into her hair. He tilted his face and stilled her lips with the gentle pressure of his own.

 

Nancy opened her mouth and leaned into him, her skin trembling and warm, and her soft gasp was lost in his solid warmth as his arm curved tighter around her. He leaned back slightly, until she was tilted forward, off balance, her weight resting against him. He kissed her, hard and insistent, over and over, and she relaxed by slow degrees.

 

He had thought the insistent terrible weight in his gut would release or at least lessen, the weight that flowed with every pump of his heart into his trembling limbs, but he felt no change. Not as he pulled the covers back and rolled her onto the mattress, meeting the soft gleam of her gaze. Not as he crawled over her and tugged the blanket up like a mantle over his shoulders. Not as his hands grazed the curve of her bent knees, the blind eyes closed shift as his fingers crept closer to the warmth between her thighs, not as he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers, along with the ponderous swell of his weight, the warm yield of her flesh.

 

He waited for the chaotic haze of arousal to wash it away, and a brief flash accompanying the light touch of her hands on his skin nearly did so, but her caress turned to purchase which tingled over him, and he wondered, traitorous...

 

He knelt above her, pressed his lips to hers, his forehead to hers. "I love you," he whispered. "Love you so much, Nan, so much..."

 

"Love you too," she whispered, breath hitching softly as she shifted her weight, preternatural awareness at the sudden shift in her hips singing over him, and he closed his eyes, nuzzling soundless down to her shoulder, teeth kneading in gentle insistence as his fingers traced a meaningless light pattern over her inner thigh. She released a breath as she hooked her legs around him, drawing her perceptibly toward his raised hips.

 

"Ned..."

 

He lowered himself swiftly and she tilted her head back until his breath was touching the point of her chin, her legs still circling his waist as he let her draw him in close. Her breath was labored already, and she released a small moan as he spread her even wider, and they met melded and joined, smooth and seamless. He swallowed and kept his hips moving over hers, the grip of her thighs against his hips slacking and tightening in time with him. She drew a choked breath and mumbled something incoherent, and he pressed so deeply inside her that he could feel her breath, and she cried out, pinned by his weight.

 

"Nancy," he gasped, slipping his hand between them, stroking her, fondling her, squeezing her in time with his deepening thrusts, her nipples swollen with arousal, breasts tender, her skin screaming with hypersensitivity. He felt her surge underneath him, moving against him, she was hot and tight and wet and gasping burbling moaning choking out soft encouraging noises under him that grew desperate when he withdrew his hand.

 

And paused, slow, then flicked his nail over her clit.

 

His breathing was as labored as hers as she suddenly changed tempo, nails clawing for purchase on the sheets and his skin, her breath high pitched gasps that sounded more desperate the more roughly he touched her, the less careful he was with each slamming thrust inside her. His control broke and he planted his knees firmly, cupping his hands around her hips to control the angle and depth as her breath escaped in ever quicker screams, and when he felt the first twitch, then spasm, against his erection, he breathed a prayer of gasped relief and ground his hips into hers in short deep strokes, her orgasm punctuated by brief cries with his every thrust. He released and everything in that trembling breath of a moment was perfect, the seamless joining, the pressure of his forehead against hers, the sweet gasp of breath just before she darted her tongue out to touch his lips.

 

"Oh," she mumbled softly as they separated, skin still damp. "God, Ned..."

 

"Yeah," he whispered, his skin singing at her closeness.


	4. Chapter 4

Miss u

 

The backlight faded from her phone's screen, from illuminating his message, as she glanced at the clock, a slow smile on her face. A few more hours until she would see him again. He had not consulted her before the choosing of plants for the backyard, however, and she wanted to go look them over, see what they were, if she would need to worry about raking year-round or excessive pollen or what.

 

Maybe they were very thorough landscapers. They kept a shrouded shed in the back of the yard. She hadn't even seen them construct it; she had come back from work the day construction had started to see a black tarpaulin rectangle against the fence. Maybe it had windows at the top to feed the plants, maybe they were planting a herbaceous border but were waiting for something to bloom or come into season.

 

"Don't mess with it," Ned had said, over his morning paper, when she'd asked about it. "Probably full of pesticides, or something."

 

But she would find out. Maybe if she beat him home, maybe he had told them to plant rosebushes, she would love that. Some sort of birthday surprise. Other than dinner together in some subtly-lit restaurant, understated respectful waiters, square plates and caramelized vegetables and shared dessert with their feet entangled under the cloth.

 

Miss u 2, she typed back, painfully slow. Dinner 2night?

 

His eyes had been sparkling when he'd awakened her that morning, and even though she had reduced him to tears by tickling his ribs, he hadn't given any plausible reason for the mischief.

 

"It's just because you look so damn good, birthday girl," he said, and at that she had melted, but the five minutes late she had been to work had been worth it. Because, as usual, his daily present to her was himself. To make up for the time.

 

He would respond if she asked but she usually didn't like to, because of the sudden guarded half-hurt look in his eyes when she casually asked about something he'd done in the time they had been apart. She felt it too. Most of the time her life without him was in her memory like a neutral tapestry, casual flirtations, chasing missing or suspicious people to the ends of the earth, and always wishing there was somewhere else to go once she found herself there. Before, while with him, she had felt almost any guy had the uncanny ability to turn her head; after Ned, the heavy knowledge that on some forgotten piece of paper they were joined in a way that her return of the rings had belied, absolutely no one could manage to excite even a quickened pulse or glimmer of interest from her. She'd seen the way male eyes could burn when she plied them with drink, asked pointed casual questions about acquaintances or friends, teased them with the pale smear of her lipstick on their skin, and she remembered one case in particular where she had rinsed her hair in black, dressed in mink and silk, and had attracted the eye of her mark, cigarette holder between her slender fingers, utter disdain in her eyes. Oh, he had been desperate for her, to possess her, despite himself, but she had felt cold inside, all the better, all the better to just do it and get it over with, his sprawled pale limbs in a tangle as she waited for his eyelashes to stop fluttering once he had downed the spiked drink, and in the morning he would wake with a roaring headache, find the unused panties she had planted strategically and believe he'd had a night too good to remember.

 

She was too good to remember, all scarlet lips and smoky eyes and a cold core they would never touch. Much different. It made sense now, the fade and creeping disdain of her confidence, if every year Jean had taken her, if every year had made her more displaced from Ned, the miasma of Ned's imagined anger so terrible that the cold was the only way to respond. One birthday she had been in the tangle of cool flesh, long limbs, disinterested gazes, the veritable heatlamps behind the stage, photoflash catwalk

__

_sequins_

 

, and it had seemed fitting. Because none of them knew who she was, in elaborate eye makeup and some slouching gown from a haute couture design house, as she tried to find out who could possibly threaten the leading model of the show (and the answer, of course, was anyone who was even a passing acquaintance, she had discovered). She had been cool, serene, utterly poised, and totally unlike the girl Ned had woken up to this morning, giggling and flushed, still taken aback by the unabashed adoration on his face.

 

That had been who she was.

 

She wondered who he had been. She wondered about his birthdays during the five years, without cable-knit sweaters or the latest electronic gadget given him from her swelling bank account, whether he had spent them watching girls gyrate on poles with the same coldness as she in his heart even while his school buddies laughed and drank and pushed dollar bills under the strobe lights. Whether it had been dinner with the parents who had wished her good riddance after the hasty shotgun

__

_oh God, if only it had worked_

 

exchange of vows on a black beach by moonlight, if even then Edith had been asking about any nice girls at his firm, ones who might make beautiful grandchildren. She felt like there was no solid earth beneath her feet when she thought about it. She remembered his apartment, the solid smooth box, the velvet that had held their rings, their premature joining, the circlet she wore even now like a dud bullet, smashed metal jacket, talisman of a near-death experience, lifejacket and good luck charm. She whether he had found anyone who could make him laugh the way she could, during that exile.

 

She felt like she had never smiled again, not until she had spotted him across that restaurant, snatches of unintelligible rising and falling conversation around her, another Valentine's day. Not just another Valentine's day.

 

Not just another mark who could lay his fingers on her skin but never sink inside, never know her. She used to cry when she got drunk; if anything, her control was tighter, her eyes more searching. She used to look at the gun she occasionally carried, now she carried a gun all the time, and would think of ways and means and hollow-point and her father's concern, because if she had been able to fool anyone she had never been able to fool him. Now that felt unreal as some movie that she had watched in the safety of his embrace, to be dissected and judged by their conversation.

 

Ten minutes before five o'clock she finished dressing under the unflattering fluorescent lights in the women's bathroom and refreshed her makeup, spritzed herself with a palm-sized perfume, then pulled her trenchcoat tight over the satin gleaming in her favorite color, the dress she had picked out over lunch, the transformation worthy of Bess's admiration and her own best record.

 

"Happy birthday again, Nancy," Samantha Ellison said as she pulled her coat off the back of her chair and leaned over to check something on her computer monitor.

 

"You getting out of here early too?"

 

Samantha gave her a half-smile. "Have to go pick up my nephew," she said. "My sister couldn't make it."

 

Her fingers were ringless, and she was always up for a stakeout. She listened to baseball on the radio and drank water all day long. Nancy remembered that, her own version, her own dark flavor of it.

 

"You gonna make it to the poker game this week?"

 

There it was, the rare smile, the lighter expression, and Nancy wished Sam would smile more, and that she would give something other than one-word answers to the guy in the ballistics department. Maybe he'd come too. Maybe.

 

If she tried to play matchmaker too much more, they would need to build onto the house just to have room for poker nights.

 

Ned's eyes were stormy when he picked her up, but they cleared upon seeing her. "What's wrong?" she asked, tossing her work outfit into the trunk and joining him in the car.

 

"Nothing," he replied, gazing at her. "Nothing now. There might be when we get home, though."

 

"Oh?"

 

He shook his head and put the car in gear. "It'll be all right."

 

Nancy put her fingers gingerly against her hair to prop her head as she leaned against the car door. "So, where are we going?"

 

He shrugged. "I thought we'd just drive around until we find somewhere with valet parking, how does that sound?"

 

She smiled faintly. "Smashing," she replied, drawling the word slightly.

 

"Mom said she's making you a cake and she's gonna bring it over this weekend."

 

The words came out before Nancy could stop them. "As long as she's not having it blessed for increased fertility or anything."

 

He darted a glance at her. "I doubt it," he said mildly.

 

Nancy stroked her fingers very lightly over her forehead. "I'm sorry," she said. "I'm sorry."

 

"Why are you sorry?"

 

"Because I'm still not pregnant," she said, and she realized with sudden startling clarity that it was true.

 

He reached over and squeezed her hand briefly before he shifted gears again. "And that is why, my darling," he said, putting on his best impersonation voice, "we are going to drink a bottle of champagne and flirt very openly, not worrying about babysitters or angry parents, and act like we're dating until we go home together and you put on your birthday present and we have very loud, shameless sex on the kitchen table."

 

"Oh, so the present is something I can put on?"

 

"You can put it on," Ned said. "I've tried it on the floor a few times, and the floor seems quite happy with it. And, since it is your birthday, I guess you can wear it. For a minute or two."

 

"That's quite generous of you," she replied.

 

"What can I say," he said. "Only the best for my girl."

 

Nancy tilted her head back and studied the sky, the fingers of pastel over the horizon. "If we don't get pregnant next month," she said, fingers stroking over the cool glass, "maybe we should star t thinking about adopting."

 

"We'll see what happens," he replied. The refrain.

 

She grinned, wickedly. "At least we'll get a lot of practice in."

 

\--

 

Nancy could always follow Ned when he was home first. He left every room he had been through flooded with light, windows aglow and welcoming, and she followed him in, saw her suit tossed over the back of the couch, their cars purring each other to sleep in the driveway. He was standing at the kitchen sink, gazing out into their backyard.

 

Nancy joined him, putting her purse on the countertop and following his gaze. She scowled. "So they aren't done yet," she said, her eyes on the black rectangle still shrouded in black against the fence. "I thought they were. I don't like having them here. And I thought for some reason that you were getting the yard done for my birthday."

 

"I was," he replied, absently. He turned his face toward hers, searched her eyes. "Your present's on the table."

 

She ripped through the paper, shooting him a glance every now and then, and pushed back the tissue to reveal a delicate lilac silk slip. A necklace was nearly hidden in the shine of the fabric, and she lifted it, slender chain supporting a thin pendant of sparkling gems. For a moment she had thought it was a navel ring, because once they had been in bed, and he had been looking up at her from his back, his skin warm and familiar under hers, his forefinger and thumb gently pressed together, gentle pinch in her navel.

 

"You're not pierced."

 

"Want me to be?" she asked, smooth stroke against him, the wet yield of her skin, and suddenly her voice was clinical, detached. "I had it done once while I was on a case, pretending to be someone else. It doesn't hurt."

 

He had released her suddenly, afraid of the look in her eyes, afraid of the blanks she wasn't filling in. "I can have it redone," she had said, her voice low.

__

_i can be anybody you want me to be, virgin or whore, saint or seductress_

 

"No, that's all right," he had breathed, suddenly uncomfortable, wanting to lose himself in the oblivion of their release.

 

Her eyes focussed again as her fingers trailed over the fabric, the necklace hanging, swinging slightly, from her stilled hand.

 

"Let me," he said, delicious familiar shock of skin against skin as he fastened it behind her neck, let her hair fall down her shoulders like a gleaming curtain. She turned around and wound her arms over his shoulders, tilted her face back, and he obliged her with a kiss.

 

"What do you want for your birthday?"

 

He gazed at her. "I'm easy to please," he said. "Good dinner, some beer, and you."

 

"You remember when you asked about my belly button not being pierced?" She saw the same wariness in his eyes. "Should I get you that, too?"

 

"What, a ring to wear in my belly button?"

 

"No, one in mine," she said. "My tongue, my ear, my nose..." she leaned up and breathed hushed words into his ear, and he shivered.

 

"Isn't that against agency regulations?"

 

"Only if they know about it," she said, and that look was on her face again, low-lidded purring self-confidence, it drove him nuts to see it. "You'd be the only one who would."

 

He nuzzled against her face, the faintest hint of stubble on his cheeks, his lips parted in hot breath. "Let me show you something before I sweep everything off the table and fuck you senseless on it," he said into her ear.

 

"Mmm, senseless," she said. "I can't wait. Not after that excellent bottle of champagne. I should get on my knees just for that."

 

"Dammit, Nancy," he murmured, backing her up into the table, his mouth claiming hers hungrily. She knew what he wanted to do as his fingers slid hesitantly over the back of her new dress, the unfamiliar fastenings, but he resisted the urge and just rested his hands there as they parted. She was smiling.

 

"I love doing that to you."

 

"You can do it plenty in a minute," he said. "I'm going to warn you, I'm not sure how far done they are yet."

 

"Plants?" she asked, as he led her outside, the sun sunk low on the horizon. "This trellis..."

 

"That's going to have roses," he said. "And those trees, those are the ones you like so much..."

 

The delay was sweet, his hand in hers, fingers interlaced, as they toured the yard. Ned walked toward the tarpaulin, gave it an experimental tug.

 

She wrinkled her nose. "Are we going to see if exposure to dangerous pesticides results in genetically altered superpowers?"

 

"Maybe next year," he said, and with one tug the curtain came down. The walls were indeed glass, set in antiqued iron. "Recognize it?"

 

She squinted in the dusk, then gasped. "No," disbelieving.

 

"Yeah," he said, smiling.

 

He opened the door and they stepped inside, the whisper of speeding cars and wildlife damped and quiet, the hushed noise of aerated water rising in the stillness. Everything in verdant green, lush and almost dewy, and she slipped out of her shoes, for the holiness in the place.

 

"Yeah, it's not done," he said, and even his voice was subdued. "They're finished with the bones of it, but I wanted you to be able to decorate."

 

"It's... it's beautiful, Ned."

 

He must have made a copy, she realized, belatedly. He must have made a copy of the painstaking scaled blueprint she kept in their study and given it to these guys, and they had finished it, down to the selection of plants, the symmetry.

 

The fish were bobbing at the top, and he led her past the pool, the leaves sliding over her bare arm, back to the bench. Behind it was a square of sand, blank, waiting canvas, with a metal rake nearby. The wall ended just before the fence. She threw her head back and glanced up at the sky, through the peaked roof. When she turned back to him, her eyes were shining.

 

"It's perfect," she breathed.

 

He couldn't disguise the pleasure her response was bringing him. "I'm glad you like it," he said simply, his arms sliding around her waist. "I wish they'd finished it sooner."

 

"What else would there be?"

 

"Anything you want," he said. "Fountains, statues, a lamp-post..."

 

She stretched on her tiptoes and kissed him. "I have all I want, right here in front of me," she murmured, secure in the physical memory of the first kiss they had shared in over five years.

 

The joy on his face was almost painful. "Happy birthday," he whispered.

 

\--

 

Nancy wore the necklace the next day. Agent Stone found himself staring at it. She was in a grey suit, cream-colored shirt underneath, and the necklace fell like an arrow to the shadow between her breasts. She had her hair gathered over one shoulder, and it hung down in shining strands, her polished fingernails on the highlighter. He wanted to say something, maybe bring her a cup of coffee, so he could endure the slightest glance of her blue eyes.

 

The diamond on her finger caught the light just then and he sighed. Sam was going over transcripts, her lips pursed in a frustrated pout.

 

Suddenly Nancy glanced up, lips rounded with surprise, and he endured two seconds of returning her gaze before he flushed, looking anywhere else.

 

"Has anyone pulled the ATM surveillance tape?"

 

"There is no ATM near there," Critcher responded.

 

"Yes there is," Nancy replied. "I've been by there before, there's a standalone not attached to a bank."

 

Critcher grabbed his coat. "I'm on it."

 

Nancy sat back, her lips curling ever so slightly upward. "That's it," she said. "That'll be it."

 

Ellison tossed the bound transcripts onto the desk. "Good," she said. "I'm starving."

 

Nancy glanced at her watch. "Call me on my cell when he gets back," she said. "I'm going to go grab some lunch, want me to get you anything?"

 

She adjusted the sleeve of her shirt and shrugged into her grey jacket, and Stone found himself utterly incapable of intelligent communication. He managed a shrug while Samantha reeled off her order, and Nancy nodded when she was done, no paper in her hands, no notations made.

 

"Why are all the good ones taken?" he managed, once she had been gone for a few minutes.

 

Samantha laughed. "Come to poker night sometime and you'll see," she said. "She's married to a damn GQ model."

 

Stone groaned. "All the more reason," he said.

 

\--

 

The office jerk had started it as a joke. Nancy had been new to the office and knew she shouldn't have participated in the gift exchange, but she had, and now a plastic My Little Pony was next to her computer monitor. She had taken it with good humor, though, the play on her new last name. But it had caught on, and now she tossed the throw pillow depicting a horse in cross-stitch onto the guest bed. Ned had received his share of similarly themed gifts, so redecorating the room hadn't been very hard at all.

 

Nate had promised he would take Ned to the next major football game if he and Nancy would watch the kids for the night. And so Stephanie stood in the doorway with her hand in Nancy's, surveying the room. "It's pretty," she said.

 

"You like horses," Nancy said.

 

Stephanie nodded. "Can I sleep in here tonight?"

 

Nancy considered. Stephanie had been unhappy to learn that her place in the master bedroom was contingent upon how Nancy felt with the master of the house, and since Nancy was quite happy with her new garden, Stephanie could choose from anywhere in the house but Nancy's side. The phone rang, and Nancy crossed the room, leaving Stephanie to climb up onto the bright coverlet. "All right," she agreed. "Hello?"

 

"Hey."

 

"Hey George," Nancy said. "What's up?"

 

"Not much," George said. "I'll be in town for a few days and wanted to see what you guys were up to."

 

"Well, since it's Bess and Nate's anniversary, we are delighted to be watching two kids tonight."

 

"All night?" George chuckled. "Nate must be promising something serious for Ned to have been okay with that."

 

"Football tickets," Nancy admitted. "Come on over, we can... play dress up and compare My Little Ponies."

 

"Sounds like a blast."

 

"Besides, you haven't even seen my garden yet."

 

"Garden?" Stephanie piped in from the bed.

 

"You wouldn't like it, it's boring," Nancy said to Stephanie, her hand cupped over the mouthpiece, listening to George laugh. "Anyway, yeah."

 

George glanced at her watch. "Give me a few minutes."

 

\--

 

"Soon, right?" Ned called from the couch.

 

"Yes, soon," Nancy called back, setting the table. Stephanie had her own place setting, as did Madison, all in shatterproof plastic. "You about ready?"

 

"Been ready," he said. "I'm starving." On his way into the kitchen he scooped up Madison, who had crawled nearly to the linoleum floor, and kissed Nancy on the cheek. "George?"

 

George was flipping through one of Nancy's magazines, and looked up inquisitively at Ned, dark eyed gaze meeting his. "Oh good."

 

After the meal Nancy and George went out in the backyard. "It's not quite finished," Nancy said, "I ordered a few last things that haven't come in yet."

 

"It's nice," George said, running her fingers over one of the broad, flat leaves. "Out of the wind."

 

Nancy nodded, then sat down on the bench. "They're going to do some lights for me."

 

"They?"

 

"He had professionals come in and do it."

 

"Some birthday present," George breathed. "And this?"

 

Nancy turned and swept her hair over one shoulder as she critically studied the square of sand against the rear wall. "I wonder how badly it would mess up the zen if I let the kids play in it."

 

George laughed. "You're not...?"

 

Nancy shook her head. "No, we aren't. Not yet. I told Ned that in a month, if still nothing, maybe we could look into adopting."

 

"That's a big turnaround," George commented mildly.

 

"From what?" Nancy dug her toes into the raked sand. "I mean, it was his mom who had that nursery all ready for me before I'd even moved in."

 

"So Ned says," George commented. She picked up one of the flat stones in her palm and studied it.

 

Nancy looked away. "I'm not saying it makes any sense," she murmured. "We talked about it a long time ago, and I didn't feel ready, and..." she sighed.

 

"And now you do?"

 

Nancy laughed nervously. "Is anyone ever, really?"

 

George shrugged and sat down beside her. "I can't answer that. I don't know."

 

"The only thing is that it's so frustrating to take the kids anywhere, I keep having to borrow cars."

 

George laughed. "Usually it's the other way around, not 'the tiny Jag is keeping us from being able to raise children.'"

 

"I'd love it," she admitted. "I'd love to have to go buy some SUV or minivan, I'd love to buy little clothes and have Ned look at me the way he looks at those kids…"

 

George was staring at Nancy. "What is it?" Nancy said.

 

George shook her head. "You have no idea, do you," she said. "I have never seen anyone look at another person the way Ned looks at you."

 

Nancy blushed and looked down at her hands. George tossed the rock back into the sand and it skidded a few feet, then stopped.

 

"This isn't for Edith or Carson or even Ned. This is for you."

 

Nancy pulled her knees up to her chest and hugged them there. "Then it is."

 

"And that's what you want?"

 

Nancy nodded, a faint smile on her lips. "I want to have a baby."

 

"Even with the back pain and morning sickness and elastic pants and two-hour feedings?"

 

The smile broadened. "Yep."

 

George patted her on the back. "Then I wish you luck, my friend. Just not while I'm in the house, if you don't mind."

 

Nancy grinned wickedly. "If Ned starts talking about putting the kids to bed, you might want to exit the premises as soon as possible."

 

They could see Ned's silhouette clearly from halfway through the yard, his hand cupped over his brow as he peered through the glass, out at them. Stephanie was attached to one of his legs, and Madison was on his opposite hip, clutching at his shirt. "Please tell me it's bedtime," he said to Nancy when she opened the door.

 

George dissolved into laughter.

 

\--

 

Three days beforehand, enough lead time for those with children to scramble for babysitters, Ned would send out an email to those who had merited a standing invitation to poker night. For those whose babysitters were less forgiving, the entire group, or as much of it as could, would meet at a prespecified location, usually one with a large drinks menu. Participants were encouraged to pay cab fare if they were proceeding to the house, and thereby prevent a glut of cars from choking off the neighborhood thoroughfare, and the chaos of slightly inebriated driving.

 

Nancy always cleaned. Everything. She kept the house tidy, but things were spotless before a poker night. And because they were his tradition, Ned had actually purchased a steam cleaner for the carpet, for the inevitable horrified gasp and inebriated apologies.

 

People were always invited as couples now. All the better to match-make, because Ned's frat buddies weren't bad guys, and Nancy knew eligible girls, even though...

 

They were all segregated again. Most of the girls were more content to play less competitive games, and the guys were in the poker games for blood. Ned was at the main table, and even though Nancy usually loved to play with him, tonight the drinks had just made her feel surly.

 

Maybe because she could feel the bands of warmth across her belly, signifying that the window had passed again.

 

Sam Ellison had shown up, dragging Stone in tow. He was in the poker game now, playing a few seats down from Ned, and he had to agree with Sam's assessment of his competition. The unattached girls in the room, at least those unaccustomed to the rules of the evening, were cooing, watching Ned's every move, offering him drinks or anything else he might want, though they pulled back whenever Nancy entered the room, their eyes glittering and watchful on the movements of the one who had won him. He was never disrespectful or impolite, but he was always firm in his refusals. The look on Nancy's face was petulant, but she didn't say anything as she sat down in his lap, one arm curved around his shoulders, her cheek against the crown of his head.

 

She looked right, like that. The expression on her face, the attitude of her limbs, was entirely different from the professional mask Stone had never seen her without. She didn't have a partner, and Agent Roberts had described her as a contracted consultant, who could name her hours and to be honest work pro-bono for them. He believed it. With the suits she wore, the car she drove, the obvious understated wealth of their tasteful home, he fully believed that she could sit at home all day, letting that beautiful mind waste through hours of soap operas and inane conversation. Her eyes were sharp as she studied Ned's hand, the bets he was placing, but never did she make any sign that she disagreed with his decisions. He wished for an instant that one of those refused girls would come sit in his lap that way.

 

He didn't recognize any of them, and he wondered if maybe it was all an elaborate game on Ned's part. Maybe he invited all the girls at his workplace who showed any interest in him here, so they could see what he had, what he would be giving up if he returned their flirtation, and all in all the speechless intensity of his relationship with his wife. The careful delineation between what they could have and where they could never follow him. Maybe two visits was all they needed to see that he was as untouchable as the moon.

 

Stone was convinced after two hours of the treatment.

 

Bess, one of the favored ones who always merited an invitation, stood in the doorway, a silent question in her eyes. Nancy pressed a kiss to Ned's temple, and even though he made no outward response Stone caught the tightening in his arm before Ned released her. She walked over to Bess with careful steps.

 

"Do you mind who goes in the garden?"

 

The kitchen table was a liquor and dessert buffet. The perishables were in an ice-filled cooler at the end of the table. Stone mixed himself a drink while Sam settled on the couch, watching two guys play a video game. "I play winner," she announced, then leaned back.

 

The entire house was like that, the rooms he wandered through. A group of girls was in the guest bedroom just off the living room, playing music loudly enough to be heard out at the poker game. These were the girls who occasionally wrapped an arm around a poker player and offered another plate of finger food, another fresh beer. The refrigerator held enough beer to keep a frat party going for at least a few hours, and Sam had told him a lot of the guys were frat boys. He looked through the medicine cabinet, but found only generic pain medications and first aid supplies. Of course, in the guest bedroom. He looked at the stairs, but the thought of it made him shudder, and no one else seemed inclined to explore the way he did.

 

A dark, serious-looking guy with a stylized cane had taken over Ned's hand, when Stone passed through again. Sam had tired of watching the game on the screen and was sitting in Stone's place, though she offered it back to him, but he waved it off. "I'm going to get some fresh air," he said, then stepped out onto the back deck, looking in the direction of the greenhouse at the fence. He could see people moving around inside it.

 

He was in the middle of the last sip of his drink when he heard some tiny organic noise, and he froze, tilted the cup back a little bit, turned ever so slightly. A shadowed irregular figure seated on the deck resolved itself into two embracing bodies as he studied it, and he flushed, glad for the darkness.

 

Ned was seated there, on the bench, Nancy on his lap facing him, her palm on his cheek. That had been the noise, the sound of her skin over the stubble on his face. Ned's eyes were closed, Nancy's forehead against his jaw, his arms wrapped around her waist.

 

As Stone stepped back inside and closed the door, Nancy was just tilting her face up, her lips just meeting Ned's. He mixed himself another drink and took the first sip hurriedly.

 

"This isn't a wading pool, right?" he heard someone call from out in the darkness.

 

The guy in Ned's spot caught Stone's eye as he walked back into the living room. A brunette woman with laughing eyes was standing behind him, her hands on his shoulders. "They're out there making out again, aren't they," he said, and a few of the other guys at the table laughed.

 

"Yeah," Stone admitted, feeling a sudden inexplicable relief. A few of the girls suddenly stood and left the room, and Stone lowered himself into one of the newly unoccupied chairs.

 

"Don't worry, at least one person has to walk in on them every time," he said. "I'm Mike."

 

"Jeffrey Stone," he replied. "I work with Nancy."

 

"No kidding," a tall black man said. "FBI?"

 

"Yeah," Stone admitted.

 

Howie shook his head. "Good for you," he said. "But then, not everyone can have a superbowl ring." Several of the guys picked up whatever they could find and started pelting Howie.

 

Sam grinned in Stone's direction. "Sure you don't want your chair back?"

 

\--

 

Nancy was wearing her bathrobe when he came home from work. He sighed, put his briefcase on the hall table, took off his coat, and sniffed the air. "What's that?" he called to her.

 

She appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, beaming. "It's almost finished. Happy birthday again, honey."

 

Ned smiled tiredly. "Thanks. You're home early."

 

"Yeah," she said, still smiling. "I think there's a game on."

 

"I thought you said it was almost finished."

 

"It is. I'll put it on a tray and bring it to you."

 

Ned raised an eyebrow as he kicked off his shoes and loosened his tie. "Wow. We don't have to eat at the table?"

 

"Not tonight," she said, kissing him lightly on the cheek.

 

"Are you feeling all right? You're in your robe."

 

"I'm feeling great," she said. "Go, go watch some TV. I'll bring you a beer."

 

He changed clothes and settled in the recliner, his stockinged feet propped up, and turned on the television. Nancy had already put a cold beer on the table next to him. He cracked it, took a sip, and called in the direction of the kitchen, "You are the best wife ever."

 

Nancy pushed the swinging door open with her back and smiled at him over the tray. "You're too easy to please," she said, placing it over his lap.

 

He looked down, his eyes widening. "Ribs, potato skins... damn. Is this what you've been doing?"

 

"There's more in the kitchen," she said, walking around to pick up his discarded clothes and take them upstairs. "Just let me know when you want seconds or dessert. I don't want you to have to move."

 

"Come here," he said, when she came back downstairs, adjusting the belt of her robe. She walked over, a faintly inquisitive look on her face.

 

"Everything's okay, isn't it?"

 

"Everything is great," Ned said, reaching up for her, drawing her down to him so he could kiss her. "Thanks. I've had a rough day and this makes up for it."

 

She beamed at him. "I'm glad," she said, leaning down again to kiss a bit of sauce off the corner of his mouth.

 

He didn't have to tell her to do anything, she was constantly watching him. When his beer was low, she brought him another one; when he was finished with his plate, she silently took it away and brought him the cake, complete with a glowing candle on top, during a commercial break. They ate slices with ice cream, while he explained to her the what she had missed.

 

"Come here," he told her, during the next commercial break, after the outcome of the game was a foregone conclusion. She stood at the arm of his chair, one eyebrow arched, waiting.

 

"What are you wearing under that?" he asked, tugging at the belt of her robe.

 

"Well, since you asked," she said, shrugging out of it to reveal the red lace nightie. He scruitinized every bit of bare skin showing through the design, and knew she was naked underneath it.

 

He murmured appreciatively, and she darted a glance back over her shoulder, at the television.

 

"Can you spare a few minutes?"

 

She didn't strip him naked like she usually did, maybe because the room was cold, maybe because she herself stayed in her gown. She nudged down the elastic bands of his pants and boxers just enough and his hand crept toward her head as she took him into her mouth. He buried his fingers in her hair, tilting his head back, as she stroked him with her tongue, trailing kisses down between his thighs until his breath was labored. He watched her as she did what had always turned him on the most, slide her fingers between her own thighs and then slip them, wet with her own arousal, down over him as she took him into her mouth again. The rhythm of her stroking matched that of her lips and he tightened his grip on her, shaking as he came.

 

He stared up at the ceiling and watched her out of the corner of his eyes as she crept off him, leaving his skin chilled by the evaporating moisture, and went into the kitchen. He stared at the screen and watched, but did not see, the end of the game, and Nancy crept back in and took a seat on the couch.

 

"You just went and washed your mouth out, didn't you," he said, still not-watching the game.

 

She smiled, blushing in the half light. "You know me," she admitted, curled up with her feet under her.

 

When she disappeared again to bring him another beer, she walked out of the kitchen to find his unexpectedly bare skin glowing faintly in the blue glare of the television. She brought the can to him and he placed it carefully on the table, then took her arm and swung her onto his lap.

 

"Do you..." she looked down at his eyes, then started trailing kisses down his newly bare chest.

 

"No," he murmured, taking her chin in his hand and drawing his face up to hers. As he kissed her he lifted her up and adjusted her so she was straddling his naked waist, the bare flesh of her inner thigh against his outer.

 

She gasped. "Okay," she whispered, staring into his face as he stroked a finger down her cheek, then took her gown into his hands and pulled it over her head. When they were both naked he pulled her toward him, sliding his tongue over her nipple, and she relaxed her legs to rest her weight on his. She exhaled and slid her hand down to his chest, flicked her thumbnail over his own erect nipples.

 

"Yeah," he mumbled into her chest as he suckled her other breast. "Nan..."

 

She pushed herself forward, closer to him, and moaned when he stroked his fingertips over the newly moistened skin at the tips of her breasts. She took him inside her and let her knees slide forward until her hips were flush against his and she was shaking. He wrapped his arms around her waist to hold her to him as his hips moved under and between hers. She felt his smooth, unyielding pressure inside her, the insistent instinctual movement, the equisite agony of his intrusion, and tilted her head back, her mouth open. Ned reached up to squeeze her swelled breasts, to feel their ponderous weight in his hands by the flickering light. Nancy leaned down and caught his mouth with hers, kissed him soundly, so close against him that he could feel her heart pounding.

 

He squeezed her nipples with his fingers and listened for her aroused gasp, then rested his hand casually on her hip.

 

"Come," she gasped into his ear, slipping her tongue along his earlobe as she moved her hips more insistently against his.

 

"Scream for me," he whispered, feeling her eyes roll back, feeling her every nerve tense in anticipation as he slid his hands between their heaving chests and parted her lips.

 

His fingertips were wet with saliva as he stroked down both sides of her vagina, as he pressed her together and squeezed her tighter around his erection, her wet skin already driving him so close to release. He stroked her down below, deeper, and she quivered. She leaned back, so he could see her, and cupped her own breasts in her hands, waiting for him, a moan barely escaping her lips,

 

and he squeezed her clit between his thumbs and began to stroke it, and she fondled her nipples in time with his stroking until they were both moving frantically, and she was crying out for him, with him, her fingers so quick he could barely follow, as she propped herself up and slammed her hips against his, as his stroking turned to desperate groping thrusts that slowly died as they came with simultaneous screams.

 

She pressed a kiss against his cheek, then took a sharp breath as she shoved herself back. She slipped off the recliner and stood on unsteady legs for a second, then found her nightgown on the floor.

 

"God," Ned mumbled, reaching for her. She pulled the nightgown over her head and he grasped it by the hem, tightened his fist.

 

She walked over and leaned next to him on the edge of the recliner, closing her eyes as he slipped his arm around her waist and held her there.

 

"Put your robe on and come with me," he said.

 

The air inside the glass house was still cold, but at least they were out of the wind. Nancy groped around and found the switch, and when she flipped it they were surrounded by fairy lights.

 

Ned kept his arm around her waist. "I've never been out here at night before."

 

She nodded and swept her hair back from her face. "It's beautiful."

 

He smiled and kissed her deeply. "Yeah," he replied, gazing into her eyes.

 

She ducked her head and pulled him with her along the stepping stones until they reached the redwood bench between the pool and the zen garden. Ned gazed down into the water and saw the orange goldfish bobbing up near the top.

 

"No golden dragons?"

 

She smiled. "I couldn't bring myself to be that faithful. There are a few stone angels around here somewhere."

 

"With angels watching, we'd better do this the right way," he murmured, and smiled. He slipped out of his pants and shirt, and Nancy out of her gown, but the chill in the air drove her to straddle him, his skin warm against hers.

 

"What do you think about out here?" he asked her, brushing her hair back from her face, which was pressed against his shoulder.

 

"Everything," she whispered. "And sometimes nothing at all, while I rearrange the rocks and scrape lines in the sand."

 

"Therapeutic?"

 

He felt her smile, heard it in her voice. "I doubt you'd find it so."

 

"Hey, I can be sensitive."

 

She turned her face into his still-stroking palm and kissed it. "Yes, you can."

 

He lowered her down to the bench, on her back, and hooked her legs over his shoulders. Nancy kept her eyes open and he watched her eyes gleam with interest at what she saw, through the glass.

 

"It's so beautiful," she breathed.

 

He tilted his head back, fully aware despite the beer in his system that, with their eight-foot-high wooden fence, the only observers they could be performing for were the stars overhead. The moon was out of sight between the frames of foliage, and the stars twinkled in a sky tinged only at the very edges with the light pollution of their city.

 

He slipped a hand between her thighs and felt her wet, ready skin. "Yeah," he murmured in agreement.

 

Her fingers were trailing in the sand as he pressed into her, and he watched her tilt her head back, arch her spine, stretch her arms over her head. Her breasts shifted with the movement and once their hips were lined up exactly he reached down to caress her nipples, swollen with arousal.

 

She propped herself up on her elbows and moaned, whimpering desperately, as she rocked her hips against his thrusts. He was sure his neighbors could hear her, but he didn't care, as he slipped his hand between their joined bodies and touched her clit again. His erection throbbed, parting her wet tight flesh as she screamed for him, and they were both barely able to breathe, frantic, panting in the near dark as he came inside her already spasming body.

 

He gently pulled back and she lay boneless, her breath the only movement she could manage as she stared up at the stars again.

 

When they recovered she slipped her nightgown back on and Ned back into his clothes, and she wrapped her legs around his waist as he held her to him. She circled his neck with her arms and rested her face against his shoulder, and he closed his eyes, listening to her breathing.

 

The house was dark, security system armed, as he took off his clothes and crept into bed with her. She scowled in discomfort as she tossed her nightgown over the side of their bed.

 

"What is it?" he murmured, extending his arm to beckon her to him.

 

"It scratches my skin," she said, rubbing her palm over her reddened shoulder as she slipped into his embrace.

 

"That's a damn shame," he murmured. "But then you look even hotter with it on the floor."

 

She chuckled, her eyes closed. "You've tired me out, Nickerson," she mumbled. "Let me rest up for what you undoubtedly will want in the morning."

 

He brushed her hair back from her face, pressed his lips against her cheek. "Thank you. I love you."

 

"I love you too," she said, and yawned. When she opened her eyes, his were closed.

 

"Happy birthday," she whispered.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I speak very little French, so I apologize now for any mistranslation.

"It's beautiful," Edith said.

 

Ned's fingers tightened on Nancy's and she wondered if he was remembering.

 

Edith turned to Nancy. "You designed this?"

 

Nancy nodded. "From memory."

 

The cold line crept over her skin like ice water. She knew the question, could have mouthed it along with Edith. "And what made you remember a place like this?"

 

"Oh, Ned and I..."

 

"We spent some time in a place like this," Ned said.

 

We kissed and I took him back to my hotel room and told him I wasn't ready for a commitment while I was still shaking from his touch.

 

Iris ran her fingertips over a leaf. "Drew taste is excellent, isn't it," a faint smile on her face as she turned to her stepdaughter. "Oh, Carson's waving..."

 

The grill had been delivered the previous day, and Ned made their lunch on it, much to Edith's delight. James and Carson were watching the game, drinking beers, and utterly unconcerned.

 

Iris went back to look at the zen garden, after Ned and Edith went to check on the food. Nancy followed her back, the silence between them comfortable.

 

"She looks at you..." Iris shook her head.

 

"You weren't here," Nancy said. "Edith remembers Ned with a heart broken by my hand."

 

"Is that okay with you?"

 

Nancy shrugged. "I don't have much choice," she said, sitting down on the bench. "It's either that or mother to her grandchild."

 

Iris looked over at her. "I can see it," she said. "If I thought someone felt that way about me, it would be a bit difficult to... maintain a healthy relationship."

 

"Yeah, well, Ned's going to start looking for a child," Nancy said. "That should firm the relationship right up."

 

"Aren't you two...?"

 

Nancy shook her head. "Maybe we should go to doctors. But maybe he and I just weren't meant to have kids."

 

"That would be a damn shame," Iris said. "He'd make beautiful babies."

 

Nancy shrugged. "He's going to Asia in a few weeks, maybe he'll just find us a beautiful baby."

 

Iris glanced over Nancy's shoulder and sighed dramatically. "Let's go save the guys from themselves."

 

The meal passed without incident. Nancy kept her hand resting lightly on Ned's right thigh, as though drawing strength from him. She kept waiting for Edith to make an excuse to go upstairs, to make some comment about the nursery, but she did not.

 

Nothing had happened, again.

 

Carson made plans to meet Nancy the next time she had a lunch hour free. Iris gave Nancy a long hug before she left. James and Ned had tickets to the same game, so they would be attending the next weekend.

 

Her briefcase was on the table. She had casefiles to be looking over before the morning. Instead she lay with her head cradled against Ned's thighs, staring at but not actually watching the game. A rare leftover hamburger sat cooling on the kitchen bar. During a commercial break she left the warmth of his lap and mechanically dressed the hamburger, cut it in half with a sharp knife, brought him an unopened beer.

 

She handed over half of the burger without even asking if he wanted it. "Thanks," he said.

 

George called Nancy's cell and she left the house, the sounds of chanting frustrated fans that echoed around their living room, walked out to the garden.

 

"Wilder hired me. I'll be coming down to teach a few courses, in the summer, and if things work out they'll option me for the next school year."

 

"That's great!" Nancy said, her body curled in on itself on the bench, as she looked down at the bobbing goldfish. "So when will you be back around here?"

 

"Next month."

 

"We should do something," Nancy said. Her eyes traced the calm surface of the water. "We should go sailing."

 

"Where?"

 

"Oh... I don't know. Maybe Maryland."

 

George laughed. "Has Ned kept up with Andy all this time?"

 

"Yep. I'm sure he wouldn't mind, what with that mansion he and Annabel have."

 

"Hey, and if we're lucky maybe Bess can inflict her children on someone else for a weekend and go with us."

 

"You gonna bring a date, too?"

 

"Probably not," George said. "But who knows, maybe I can dig up someone in a month."

 

The sun was setting as she walked back to the house, bare feet on cool grass. Ned was rummaging around in the refrigerator. "Hungry?" he asked.

 

"No," she admitted, her hand resting on the writhing warmth of her belly. "When are you going to China?"

 

"It's up to you whether I go," he reminded her, stacking sandwich supplies on the countertop.

 

She closed her eyes, resting in a chair at the kitchen table. "Go," she said. "I'll stay with Bess. Bring back pictures of cute babies."

 

He didn't make any noise for a moment, and she opened her eyes, to find his gaze steady on her face. "Nan," he said.

 

"I mean it," she said, drawing the barely realized tears back before they even touched her eyes.

 

He held her gaze for another minute, then opened the loaf of bread. "All right," he said. "You don't want to come with me?"

 

She gazed out the window, into the gathering dark, at her empty garden. "Of course I do," she replied. "But you said you'd be busy the entire time."

 

He sighed. "I will," he admitted. "If I go. But at least you'd be back in the hotel room to keep me warm."

 

"Assuming I didn't get into any trouble," she said, her lips curving up in a smile.

 

He grabbed a dishcloth off the counter and tossed it at her. "You'd better not," he said.

 

She picked it up off the floor, where it had fallen short. "George says she's coming to stick around for a while, next month," she said. "Let's go to Maryland and stay with Andy."

 

"I'll call him and see," Ned said. "Is this a family vacation?"

 

Nancy ticked them off on her fingers. "You, me, George... think Bess and Nate, maybe?"

 

"Long weekend," he said. "Andy might be more okay with that."

 

He was deep in sandwich-making as she crossed the room, dishtowel still hanging from her fingertips. If he was serious... ahh yes, he was digging around in the cabinets for the sandwich press. He plugged it in, as she tossed the towel into the laundry room, and she slipped her arms around his waist.

 

"Thanks," she said.

 

He rested a hand over hers. "So you don't want me to bring you back a Chinese infant?"

 

"Pictures," she said, softly. "Bring me back pictures of girls. I want a little girl."

 

"Okay," he said.

 

\--

 

Domestic adoptions.

 

He had researched it one day, on his laptop, with Nancy on the opposite end of the couch reaading a book, her cold toes curled under his thigh. The two of them had been married, legally, for under a year, even though when he tacked on the time they had started living together, it had been over a year. The marriage that only they and their witnesses acknowledged would have given them sufficient time to prove stability of the relationship, but they had spent the majority of that five-year span, nearly all of it, apart, irreconciled.

 

The money wasn't the issue. The issue was that they had not been together long enough. When he added up in his head how long they had been dating, the idea seemed ludicrous, but a year and a half ago she had been a stranger to him. That was sobering.

 

Even if they could have managed to sweet-talk some agency into handing over a child, he remembered the cases of fathers coming back years later to claim the children they hadn't even known existed. Father's rights were sticky.

 

He had glanced over at his wife then, serene, her hair twisted up on her head, not a trace of makeup on her face, and had wished again that he could have the right to call some living breathing child theirs. His anger at her secretly planning to take the pill seemed almost ludicrous. Pill or not, every month it was the same.

 

He wondered, again, if maybe it was him.

 

If she wasn't pregnant by their second Christmas together, then he would at least know why. He'd subject himself to the tests, the prodding, the indelicate questions. But in the meantime...

 

International children, especially Chinese, those abandoned by their parents, had little to prevent their adoption by American parents. So many of them were little girls. Nancy wanted the glossies, something she could hold in her hand, read a dossier, pick and choose who might come to their sunlit nursery. Ned, on his next trip, could see them in the flesh.

 

That was, if the trip itself weren't going to be so packed.

 

He sent off for an information packet, of children meeting Nancy's vague criteria, and had it delivered in her name. One night he had come in late, tie loose, having dragged himself away from the more insistent female population of the secretarial pool who said just one more drink wouldn't hurt. The presentations were almost ready for the conference, slides and figures and statistics and full-color handouts and he just wanted to draw a breath that wasn't laced with some cloying perfume.

 

Not a spare inch of their bedspread was visible. She had arranged the papers, the gleaming photographs, in a mosaic monument to the lost, her robe half-hanging on one shoulder, her eyes bright. He dropped his briefcase, took off his coat.

 

"They're beautiful," she said, with a sweep of her hand. "There are so many of them. We could have a little girl taking her first steps in this house, calling me her mother."

 

He curled an arm around her, and at his touch she started slightly. "You want to go to sleep," she said, and started gathering the papers into her hands.

 

"Nan, it's okay," he said. He stepped out of his clothes after she had stepped out of his embrace, putting the papers down on their dresser, flannel robe stretched against her skin. He pulled back the covers and slipped beneath, reaching around her waist to swing her in with him, feeling incredibly weary.

 

"We'll make a pretty baby," he murmured, arms around her.

 

She reached up and traced a fingertip over his lips. "Have," she said softly.

 

"Sure," he replied. "Any one you want."

 

\--

 

The game ran late, traffic was terrible, he told her, not knowing she was curled like a cat in the papasan chair, in a square of sunlight, finger marking her place in the book while she talked to him. Anything in the world she wanted for dinner. She pondered for a second, and told him she wanted something Asian. With his father in the passenger seat, a tone in Ned's voice that Nancy knew James would probably recognize, he asked if she wouldn't prefer something American. She described to him in explicit, hushed tones, exactly what she wanted, where and how many times and if he would be so kind as to oblige.

 

Sunday afternoon, quickly fading into evening, was heavy with dread of Monday morning. Nancy mentally made time to take the dry cleaning on her way to work, went through her closet thinking about what she wanted to wear for the week. He was playing his game, and if his accuracy was any indication, he was stone sober.

 

Nancy climbed into a t-shirt, under the covers, and settled in to watch her favorite show. Ned bounded in, the lethargy of the afternoon spent reading and his spent unwinding after the game (and her rather exuberant welcome) having given way to a second wind she found incredibly ill-timed.

 

"Is it a commercial break?" he asked, tossing his clothes into the laundry basket.

 

"No," she responded, affording him a brief glance.

 

"Tell me when it is," he said.

 

She couldn't help but laugh. "I'll make you a deal," she said. "Watch it with me, and I'll give you the entire hour afterward if you're good."

 

"Only if you strip right now."

 

Nancy shook her head stubbornly. "No, you'll distract me."

 

"Oh, I plan on distracting you as it is. That'll just make it easier."

 

"Not if you want to get lucky again tonight."

 

He gave her a mock pout. "At least the shirt," he said.

 

"Then will you shut up and let me watch?"

 

"Sure."

 

He did shut up. And if she'd put her mind to it, she could have watched, even while he pulled her on top of him, her back against his front, propped up so she could see the television, the blankets pulled over their bare skin. Even while he was very carefully removing her bra. Between his hands and toes he had pulled her panties off, while the main character on screen was giving the climactic revelation of the episode, and the screen faded to commercial.

 

"Fuck it, I'll catch it on rerun," she said, turning around in his arms.

 

The next morning she was still half-asleep as she crept into the relative cool of the shower, her husband still inside. She had dragged herself downstairs for the coffee, and despite an impassioned effort she still couldn't feel any effect.

 

He was quick, predatory in the mornings, his requests for her marked by little to no subtlety. They had sex so often in the shower that it seemed natural in the mornings, when she had no need to be in on time

__

_except the damn dry-cleaning_

 

and he pulled her up, wet tile at her back, legs wrapped around him, short insistent thrusts, the sound of artificial rain in her ears, as her face contorted with silent climax.

 

She hurried through the rest of her shower, gave him a quick kiss which he definitely wanted to turn into an encore performance, dressed in pastels and summerweights and was just packing her briefcase when he came downstairs.

 

"Lunch?"

 

"Hotel?" he returned, shaved and glistening, a grin on his face.

 

"Can't get enough, can you," she said, suddenly stilled, her awareness of the passing time growing faint.

 

"I can," he said, leaning down to kiss her softly. "You are."

 

"One o'clock."

 

\--

 

When he first mentioned it, she wasn't very enthralled by the idea. She didn't like the fact that he had to go on business trips, she didn't want him to make the trip any longer.

 

"Hey," he'd said one morning, watching her pull her stockings up her legs while he adjusted his tie. "Paris in a month. Wanna go?"

 

"Business trip?"

 

He half-smiled. "Of course."

 

"How long?"

 

He shrugged. "I think right around a week. But the end of it will be on a weekend, they're telling me, so maybe we could see a bit of the nightlife. More than we already have."

 

Nancy grinned. "So how much Paris nightlife have you seen, pray tell?"

 

He leaned over and planted a kiss on her scalp. "If you go with me you'll be the best part."

 

\--

 

They didn't travel that much, not together. She was always momentarily startled when he started speaking something fluently that he hadn't when they had been together before, and she was sure he felt the same way. They had talked about it extensively but it was always different to hear it, to see the evidence. And wonder what he had been doing during those five years when he thought she was lost to him. The things she was afraid to ask, the questions she didn't want to repeat.

 

He told her about women at the office, but in a rather gossipy way. Who was doing what with whom. No one in particular, no one especially, except people she had met before, people who came to the weekly poker nights with their wives. She liked most of them. And she didn't sense that he was being careful with her, that he needed to hide anything or his relationship with anyone from her.

 

She knew she didn't have to be careful with him. Absolutely nothing to hide, except the occasional twinge when she thought of certain things. Because it wasn't serious, wasn't enough to bother him, she would be fine...

 

She decided she would go. They hadn't gone somewhere together in a while, and she hated being home while he was away. Not the entire time, though; she'd take off for the long weekend and leave the business dealings to him. Maybe get a nice French chateau near Johnny Depp's house and lounge around all weekend.

 

\--

 

Ned was still in a meeting when Nancy arrived, so she took her time on the way from the airport. She found a gorgeous black silk dress and a new perfume, and when she called him during his break he asked if she'd meet him for dinner.

 

"A lot of the people here haven't met you," he said. "So I'm gonna tell them I'm meeting someone later and not mention who you are. I think we should both just speak French. It'll be great."

 

Nancy giggled. "You have an odd idea of a good time, Nickerson. Cheating with your wife."

__

_"il n'y a personne avec qui je preferais tricher._" There's no one I'd rather cheat with.

 

"_Merci_," she whispered.

 

\--

 

He had no idea what he had bargained for.

 

He recognized her by her wedding rings. She hadn't taken those off, and the charade would work just as well if his date were also married. Her clinging ankle-length gown was black silk. Her hair was done in curls, cascading down her bare back, and her lips were a shade below bloodred, her eyelids smoke grey. She was chatting with the older, balding bartender in fluid, liquid speech, and he could tell by the speed and the bartender's relaxed response that her accent was nearly flawless. Between her slender fingers, ending in red-polished nails, was an unlit cigarette.

 

He knew that she had seen him somehow. Without appearing to do so (but of course not, not with years of experience trailing suspects under her belt) she knew he was behind her as she slipped the cigarette between her lips and raised an eyebrow.

 

"_T'as besoin d'un feu?_" Need a light?

 

"_S'il te plaît_," she murmured, looking at him from beneath lowered eyelids. "_Merci_."

 

After he lit her cigarette she turned back to the bartender, but Ned noticed both the look she gave him and the look the bartender was giving him. Appraising. She'd been in the bar a while and he was being protective. But he was called away by another customer, and Ned slid onto the next barstool. Nancy took two drags off her cigarette and then fitted it carefully into the ashtray near her left elbow.

 

"_Je pense que nous devrions danser_." I think we should dance.

 

She raised an eyebrow, holding her head erect. She wasn't staring into her drink, ignoring all the guys in the room, and they definitely weren't ignoring her. She looked like she knew exactly what she was doing, but it was all casual, without deliberation or calculation. She allowed a small, faintly amused smile to cross her tinted lips.

 

"_Nous ne dansons pas maintenant?_" Are we not dancing now?

 

If he had run into her while she was on a case, in that time apart, like this, he would not have been able to resist her. Not the way he had while they were in Hong Kong. No hint of hesitation or uncertainty marked her manner now, no hint of vulnerability. She was completely, fully, undeniably feminine, aloof and charming and full of grace, and he wanted her. He was the only man in the room who knew whose bed she would be in later.

 

He wanted her in his bed immediately.

 

She accepted his hand and Ned could feel the psychic sigh from every other man in the room, the disappointed return to their drinks, the bartender's gaze on her back. She could handle herself, he knew that.

 

This Nancy could, at least. This Nancy could handle anything and more.

 

"_Pouvez-vous_ tango, _chérie?_" Can you tango, darling?

 

"_Pour vous, ce soir, je pense que je pourrais faire beaucoup de choses._" For you, tonight, I think I could do many things.

 

He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry, as he drew her close to him on the dance floor. In her eyes he saw a spark of pure amusement. She was thoroughly enjoying this, enjoying his being off-balance when confronted by this tigress in black silk.

 

"_Tu le manques?_" Do you miss it?

 

"_Quoi me manque?_" Miss what?

 

"_Pas tellement le travail mais la chasse, glissant dans la peau des autres. Tu le fais tellement bien. Je ne t'ai presque pas identifié_." Not so much the job but the hunt, slipping into someone else's skin. You do it so well. I almost didn't recognize you.

 

"_Mais tu m'as identifié_," she said, her eyes sparkling. _"C'est qui je suis, après que quelques verres et la connaissance que je ne peux pas être touché. J'appartiens à l'homme le plus beau de la chambre, et à lui à moi. Je n'ai aucune crainte."_

 

But you did recognize me. This is who I am, after a few drinks and the knowledge that I am untouchable. I belong to the most handsome man in the room, and he to me. I have no fear.

 

They danced, aware of eyes all around the room on them, the mona-lisa smile still on her lips. Even the band was watching, and when they played one fast number after another the two of them braved it out until Nancy finally cried out for water, brushing her hair back from her flushed face, laughing.

 

"_Si tot?_" So soon?

 

"_Ne t'inquiét pas, je ne suis pas encore fatigué_." Don't worry, I'm not tired yet.

 

They were still swaying together, from habit more than the audible urgings of the band. Nancy reached up and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt, then smoothed the collar away from his neck. His head spinning, Ned leaned over and rested his forehead against her cheek, his breath shivering straight down her spine.

__

_"Je te veux près de moi_." I want you close to me.

 

"_Je serai toujours ici quand vous revenez. Mais j'ai besoin de quelque chose de humide avant que vous puissiez m'avoir dans des vos bras encore_." I will still be here when you get back. But I need something wet before you can have me in your arms again. He could hear the smile in her voice, and her fingers were cooler than his skin as she loosed another button. He traced his tongue over the edge of her earlobe and felt her pulse jump, and he was smiling as he pulled back.

 

"_T'es sûr que tu n'es pas humide déjà?_" Are you sure you're not wet already?

 

He released her suddenly and spun on his heel to walk back to the bar, then risked a glance over his shoulder. She stood alone on the floor, in the golden and red chaos of the tableaux, a faint blush creeping over her glowing cheeks. Her blue eyes were glinting dangerously from between thick lashes as her gaze followed him. In response he let his eyes wander down the fitted curves of her dress, tracing the rise and fall of her quickened breath by the shifting of the gleaming fabric.

 

"_Tu découvriras_," she called to him, her lips parted in invitation. You will find out.

 

Ned grinned broadly as he returned to the bar and ordered a water for her, in English this time. "Hey," he heard, and looked over his shoulder to see the table full of his conference buddies.

 

He nodded to the bartender, who still looked slightly wary, and walked over to the table, clapped the guy closest to him on the back. "Hi."

 

Peter nodded toward the dance floor. Nancy was laughing at something another guy was saying while his date, looking slightly pissed, looked on with her arms crossed and a pout on her lips. "You walked in and picked up the prettiest girl in this place."

 

Ned shrugged, deliberately casual, a smile twitching on his lips. "What can I say, I just got it."

 

Ryan, who had given a talk about IT progress earlier in the day, sat next to Peter with his tie loosened and a few empty shot glasses at his elbow. He peered at Ned through his wire rims. "I don't think so," Ryan said. "You might got it, but you've had it with her for a while. I didn't know you'd been in Paris enough times to have something going on the side."

 

"You think that's the only way I could have picked her up, she's already my girlfriend?"

 

"And married, too." Derek, sitting across the table, also had more than a few empty shot glasses in front of him. He'd divested himself of tie and glasses, and the solemn expression he had worn for the majority of the day. "If one guy isn't enough for her, maybe two isn't either. She interested in a little extra company, Nickerson?"

 

Ned felt his chest tighten as he looked down at the smiling man, the muted lighting shining off his shaved brown scalp. His eyes narrowed and he reminded himself that if their situations were reversed, he might have said the same thing. Especially with most of a fifth in his belly.

 

"I'll be sure to let you know if I can't keep her satisfied," Ned said, mock-serious. Then he leaned in and lowered his voice. "But definitely don't hold your breath."

 

The sound of their hooted laughter followed him back to the bar as he picked up the water glass and walked back toward Nancy. Her new friend darted a glance over his shoulder and caught sight of Ned, who had dropped the mask of cordiality and was positively glowering. His date, her thin face hard with rage, was tapping her foot on the floor, and Ned heard it sound in time with his speeding pulse.

 

As they retreated, Nancy accepted the glass and took a long sip, then smiled at him. "_J'ai la tête que tourne, j'aura besoin d'une autre boisson bientôt. Donc ces-ci sont tes amis?_" My head is starting to ache, I'll need another drink soon. So those are your friends?

 

Ned bent his head to hers and traced his fingers up to the nape of her neck as his tongue slipped between her lips, into the iced cool of her mouth. Her eyes widened in shock, and then her eyelashes fluttered down as his fingers pressed into the base of her skull, his tongue insistent as it tangled with hers. Her free hand groped for him and she curved her arm around his back, pulling him closer to her.

 

"_L'un a juste demandé s'il pourrait nous joindre plus tard ce soir_," Ned gasped into her skin as he pulled back. One of them just asked if he could join us later tonight.

 

"_J'ai besoin d'une autre boisson maintenant_," she replied, her eyes darting back and forth between his. I need another drink now.

 

She downed the rest of her water on the way back to the bar, and as Ned ordered her a vodka caramel she smacked the empty glass down and walked carefully back to the table, smiling down at the group of wide-eyed guys. Each one of them felt the weight and consideration of her gaze, but she settled at last on Derek.

__

_"Vous ne pourriez pas me manipuler, petit garçon."_

 

With one last wide grin, predator to insignificant bystanders, she turned on her stacked heel. Ned escorted her back to the floor, one of her hands wrapped securely around her drink, the other in his.

 

Derek looked around. "What did she say? Peter, what did she say?"

 

Peter took a long swig of his drink before he replied, a smirk on his face. "She said you couldn't handle her."

 

Derek looked around and noticed that a few of the guys were staring down into their drinks, trying not to smile, though it twitched the corners of their mouths. "That's not all she said..."

 

"Little boy," Derek heard translated just as Ned mentally translated Nancy's whispered repetition into his ear, and his laughter mingled with that of the rest of the table as he dipped her. His eyes glowed in adoration as he pulled her up and close to him again.

 

"_Une danse de plus_," she murmured. "_Puis viens, couche avec moi_."

 

He didn't want to wait for one more dance. He wanted to lift her into his arms and carry her out now, in full view of that entire table, as she laughed up into his eyes. He wanted to hear their groans of envy as they heard her cry out for him, with him.

 

He settled on curving a palm around her hip and resting his thumb against the tattoo he could find even though the fabric, through the memory of touching her in the dark a thousand times. The mask slipped enough to allow her a startled gasp, a shocked gaze, and the suggestion of movement into his touch.

 

"_Une de plus_," he repeated, his voice rough, pride swelling in his chest as her eyes fluttered shut again. He traced his tongue over the seam of her slightly parted lips and tasted caramel.

 

"_Je peux sentir leurs yeux sur moi, je peux sentir vos yeux sur moi. C'a fait longtemps._" I can feel their eyes on me, I can feel your eyes on me. It has been a while.

 

"_Tu sentiras plus que mes yeux_." You will feel more than my eyes.

 

She released a trembling breath and he claimed her mouth again, tasting the sugar on her tongue as the music tried to urge their barely moving bodies into motion. His fingertips traced over her upper thigh, sliding over the silk, and she moaned. They pulled apart and she rested her forehead against the side of his neck, her eyes narrowed in concentration as his fingers stroked against her. He felt the tempo of her breath change with the shift of his fingers, and an inadvertent smile curved his lips. She leaned away from him so she could finish her drink, and as she started to move her hips in time to the music she planted a kiss under his chin.

 

"_Une plus_," she reaffirmed, and pushed him away from her, her eyes sparkling. She was in control again.

 

"_Tu me tueras, mademoiselle_," he growled, returning her good humor. You will kill me, woman.

 

"_Pas encore. J'ai une autre idée._" Not yet. I have something else in mind. Her smirk dissolved into shocked laughter as he grabbed her around the waist and twirled her, just as the next song began.

 

He could feel their eyes too, the way she had. As he twirled her around the floor and watched her toss her hair back, eyes closed, lips slightly parted, he was in awe of her again, in awe of the fact that he could possess this. He was so accustomed to the eyes of women that he had tuned it out over the years, but he was hypersensitive to it again, the way she had been at the gaze of his "friends" back at the table. Separately, they turned heads; together, Nancy and Ned commanded the attention of the entire room.

 

She was right. It had been a while since he'd felt it. Right now he wasn't her husband, they were not some demure married couple who had tired of waking up next to each other every morning, and never would be. Right now he was the man who had claimed her a lifetime ago on a moonlit beach as his and his alone, and she was the exotic creature who only existed in the darkness of their bedroom, sure of but never bored by his touch. He may have never seen her this way in the light, but he had given her the self-assurance and the confidence, the knowledge that made her the smoldering vixen who could have him at the crook of her finger.

 

And she had given him back that same confidence the day she had married him again.

 

He dipped her again and melted a little at her delighted smile, when he drew her back against him. "_T'es tout à fait beau ce soir_," she said. "_Tout le monde te regard._" You look quite handsome tonight. Everyone's looking at you.

 

Ned smiled softly, shaking his head. "_Non, chérie, tu sens leurs yeux sur toi, parce que ni eux ni moi n'avons jamais vu une créature plus exquise_." No, darling, you feel their eyes on you, because neither they nor I have ever seen a more exquisite creature.

 

She blushed again, but met his eyes steadily for a moment before she stood on her tiptoes and drew his face to hers. The music rose and he lifted her against him in his arms, her feet leaving the floor as he twirled them around. He returned her kiss, but she pulled back from him slightly and touched their noses together, still resting with her weight supported by his arms.

 

"_Je t'aime_," she whispered.

 

"_Je t'aime aussi, ma belle, ma vie._" I love you too, my beautiful one, my only one.

 

The bartender's gaze followed them to the door, and Ned acknowledged it, but he didn't acknowledge the envious gaze from the table nearby. A cold gust of air made Nancy gasp and huddle into his side, and Ned wrapped an arm around her as he raised his hand for a taxi.

 

After making sure the cab was headed in the right direction, Ned pulled Nancy onto his lap. The can driver didn't say anything; Nancy was giggling despite her cries of "_Arrêt, attends, attends_," telling him to wait until they were safe in their hotel room. Ned had a passing, disconcerting thought that maybe he believed her a more expensive escort, but it evaporated as Nancy wrenched off his jacket and pressed kisses down the side of his neck.

__

_"Que t'as voulu attendre_," he said playfully. I thought you wanted to wait.

 

"_T'as bien chaud ét j'ai si froid_," she murmured into his skin. You are so warm and I am so cold.

__

_"Donc, c'est tout que tu veux?"_

 

"_Tu sais pas_," she retorted. You know not. _"Bientôt tu mettras cette chaleur dedans."_

 

He closed his eyes and rested his face against hers. She released a sigh.

__

_"Je suis tout nue sous ma robe,"_ she breathed.

 

He bent his face to hers and kissed her, finding her unresisting as her eyelids fluttered down.

 

The taxi driver's lecherous chuckle broke through the haze in Ned's brain, and he pulled back from his wife with an audible pop and focused on the man's unshaven face. "_Nous sommes arrivés,_" he announced. _"Mais je vous donnerai encore quinze minutes gratuitement si vous voulez finir ce que vous faisiez."_

 

We're here. But I'll give you another fifteen minutes free if you want to finish what you were doing.

 

Nancy blinked a few times, but Ned could read the smaller signs. She smiled at the taxi driver in a vague, friendly way, then reached up to the side of her dress, watching him follow her every movement with hungry, expectant eyes.

 

She held it closed. _"Même pas si tu m'a payé,"_ she replied sweetly, then crawled over Ned, grabbing his jacket on the way and draping it over her bare shoulders.

 

Ned emerged a moment later, chuckling to himself. "Not even if you paid me," he repeated, then shook his head. "He might have paid pretty well to see you naked, too."

 

"If you have to ask the price, you can't afford it," Nancy replied, waiting until the taxi had pulled a safe distance away before she kissed him again. _"Alors, veux-tu coucher avec moi ce soir?"_

 

In answer he lifted her into his arms, and she snuggled into his jacket as he carried her into the hotel.

 

\--

 

"Wait," she gasped, pushing him back as they stood in the middle of the room.

 

She bent her head and he pulled back, taking the opportunity to look around. He had booked this room from his previous hotel, sight unseen, choosing a highly recommended château over the business-class rooms he'd used during the trip. He zeroed in immediately on the clear-faced refrigerator, through which he could see a bottle of champagne, and the two flutes above it. As Nancy unpinned her hair, Ned popped the cork and poured them both glasses.

 

She met his eyes in the muted light from the bedside lamp. "Thanks," she said softly, taking a sip and closing her eyes. He did the same, but kept his open, feeling the beginnings of a mild headache dissipate as he swallowed the mouthful of bubbles. "I'm going to go wash my face."

 

He nodded, and she went into their bathroom, pulling the door nearly closed behind her. As he heard the water splash in the sink he took off his clothes, tossing them at one of the armchairs as he explored the room. He had had his luggage delivered earlier in the day, and Nancy had put his clothes away for him, left the laptop on a table utterly bereft of a data port.

 

He didn't plan on doing much research for the remainder of their trip.

 

He turned off the lamp and poured himself another glass by the fairy lights shining through the windows. The light in the bathroom clicked off and Nancy emerged, padding on bare feet, still in her gown. Ned stood before her, naked and unashamed, and cupped her cheek in his hand.

 

"You want to take it slow?" he whispered, and leaned down to kiss the corner of her mouth.

 

She was smiling when he pulled back. "Not really," she replied. She reached up and unfastened the back of her gown, and it flowed off her like black water, pooling at her feet. She stepped toward him and the heat, the perfume of her was almost too much, the glow of her bare smooth body by moonlight.

 

She didn't ask what he was doing as he placed her on her stomach on their bed, kneeling over her, stroking the skin over her ribs. She moaned when he found a particularly pleasant spot, but otherwise kept her eyes open, thoughtful.

 

Then he lifted her onto her hands and knees and she felt his body, warm, crouching over hers. He nudged her hair to one side and pressed a kiss at the nape of her neck, and she shivered at the feel of his breath, the tiny hairs rising at its touch. He trailed kisses down her spine. She closed her eyes, waiting for it, bracing the heels of her hands on the bed.

 

He slipped his hands up her stomach to cup the weight of her breasts in his hands and she murmured, her breath coming in quiet whimpers as he traced his fingertips over her nipples. She could sense him but it wasn't enough, she still gasped in surprise as she felt him slide in between her thighs. He pressed into her urgently, murmuring her name as she groaned his, leaning into his touch as he flicked her nipples back and forth with his thumbs. She trembled as she pressed back against him, tossing her head back to blow the tendrils out of her eyes. He made some incoherent noise and nudged a little more deeply inside her before withdrawing. She made a quiet, desperate pleading noise and he traced a hand down her stomach. She groaned in anticipation and then in relief as he slipped his fingers below her navel, down to the seam, between into the smooth wet skin, over her clit.

 

"Yes, yes," she cried out, begging him, and he began to thrust again, rocking into her hips as he traced quickening circles over her clit. She moaned and as his breath became audible groans his fingers slowed, and she reached down to trace his fingers over her skin, gasping as she began to come. He slammed inside her and the pain was exquisite, and the sudden fluttering of his fingers over her made her scream. He murmured reassuringly and then traced his fingers back over her nipples, and she almost cried in relief as they finally came together, his warmth still inside her as he withdrew again.

 

Nancy collapsed to the bed, chest heaving, then turned her head toward her husband. Her eyes were still closed. "God," she whispered, gasping for breath.

 

"Yeah," he replied, and drew the covers up over her. "Yeah."

 

\--

 

The first time she turned, restless, in her sleep, her eyes gleaming, and found his own gaze in the dark, she had climbed on top of him. She traced slow, slumbering kisses over his neck as her hips moved over his, until he placed his flat palms on her chest and shoved her upright. Her mouth fell open, her hair falling in half-curled strands down her back, as he grasped her hips and led her to meet his wordless movements. Her groans and gasps matched his, and they moved against each other, more frantic, until they were both trembling. She raked her hair back from her flushed face, still breathing heavily, and shifted her knees to lean back over him. She rested her face in the point where his shoulder met his neck, and murmured happily as he slipped his arms around her and held her to him.

 

"Love you, Nan," he mumbled, eyes closed, still mostly asleep.

 

"Love you too," she whispered, rolling off him but keeping one of his arms still wrapped around her.

 

When they woke again, Ned rolled over and trailed his hands down to her knees, bent her legs, and gently shoved them apart. Nancy murmured something quietly, her fist opening and closing on the pillow, her eyelashes fluttering. He slipped between her thighs.

 

Nancy's brow furrowed, and her eyes finally focused on his face. "Hurt," she complained softly, her voice thick with sleep.

 

Ned moved back and froze for a minute, staring down at her, suddenly fully and terribly conscious. No other sign of panic or discomfort crossed her face, and when he leaned down and kissed her neck, she purred contentedly. He trailed his mouth down her skin in slow wet kisses, down until he took her open legs and pressed them flat onto the bed. Her moans began as he dipped his tongue and fingers between her legs, caressing her clit with his mouth. She gasped, finding the rhythm in his fingers as they slipped inside her, her skin tingling as he rubbed his unshaven chin over it.

 

She propped herself up on her elbows, her eyes closed in concentrating on his ministrations, so much so that she almost forgot to breathe. "Ned," she murmured, her brow furrowing. "I'm ready now, you can stop it, oh God I don't want you to stop..."

 

She bucked under him and he could hear the quickening in her breathing, how close she was. He curled his fingers inside her and she gasped, moving restlessly underneath him. "Ned," she moaned again. "Please, please, come inside me..."

 

He didn't answer her and she didn't ask again. She was too busy focusing on every single movement he made, every touch. She tilted her head back, her breathing quick between her moans, and turned her face into the pillow to stifle her cries.

 

He leaned back. "Don't," he said, his breathing ragged. "Let me hear it."

 

She obliged, and he felt her gasps slide down his every nerve, his momentary panic forgotten in the familiarity of her movements.

 

Before, usually, he would stop; this was all foreplay. She was waiting for him to break down and bury himself inside her, meeting her movements until they released inside each other. Instead he stroked her with his fingertips until she was squirming, writhing, moaning desperately for him, until her screams reached their highest pitch, and he felt her spasm inside. She pleaded for him to stop, to stop touching her, but he trailed his mouth back up to her navel and darted his tongue inside as he held her open and caressed her with both hands, his fingers wet with her arousal.

 

"Stop it," she begged, and her back arched as she came again, suddenly, the muscles beneath her skin clenching even more strongly than before. She breathed a plea like a prayer, moving under him, letting the pure pleasure that was his touch lead her instinctual movements when there was no thought left. Nothing left. Nothing at all. Just the warmth of his fingers.

 

He finally pulled back and rolled off the bed, pulling the bathroom door nearly closed behind him. She sipped in her breath carefully, pulling her legs together, releasing her grip from around one of the rungs of the headboard. She didn't even remember reaching for it.

 

When Ned didn't return, Nancy rose to unsteady feet, took a few carefully considered steps, and pushed open the door of the bathroom. Ned was standing in the near dark, washing his hands vigorously.

 

"Hey," she whispered.

 

He sighed. "I didn't mean to hurt you," he whispered.

 

Nancy's brow furrowed in thought as she tried to remember. "You didn't hurt me," she said. "I just wasn't ready. And you got me there, my God you got me there, I was fine about a minute later. I asked you to try again." She leaned against the doorway of the bathroom, the cool air of the room making gooseflesh rise on her skin.

 

"I didn't want to hurt you..."

 

Nancy sank to her knees on the tile floor. He was still aroused, even moreso than he had been, and she took him into her mouth. Ned rested his weight lightly against the sink and let his lips part slightly, rocking gently against the movement of her tongue. She trailed her fingertips over his inner thighs and felt him twitch in response, and when he felt his control start to slip he leaned over and grasped her arms in his hands, lifted her back to her feet, to face him.

 

"You want it," she whispered, accusing, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "Let me do this for you. You did it for me."

 

He leaned forward, blocking her in from either side, his mouth lowering to hers. She reached up and twined her arms around his neck, leaning into it, their tongues tangling together, tasting of salt and warmth and sex. When they broke for air they still didn't separate, eyes closed, breathing each other's breath, and he stepped so close to her that the tips of her nipples brushed against his chest.

 

She relaxed her arms and let them slide down his body, down below his navel again. He shook his head and picked her up, carried her back to their bed. When they had settled under the covers again, he rolled on top of her, his hands cupping around her hips. Her eyes closed and her mouth opened, waiting for him to sink inside her, but he slipped his tongue inside her mouth instead and her eyes jolted open in surprise.

 

"I didn't hurt you," he whispered, resting his nose against hers as they gasped for breath after his kiss.

 

"No," she whispered, shaking her head so the tip of her nose ran over his. "It just would have been uncomfortable, I wasn't wet like I am—"

 

She sucked in a breath as he thrust inside her, no hesitation, so deep that his hips were flush against hers. Tears rose to her eyes as she gasped, tilting her head back.

 

"Now?" he asked. "God, you're so wet now, am I hurting you?"

 

"No," she whispered, relishing the sound of his gasp as she tilted her hips back. She murmured something unintelligible as he shifted. "You're not hurting me," she murmured. Then she leaned up and caught his mouth with hers, her tongue sliding along the roof of his mouth.

 

He could feel the tiny groans she made against his mouth as he kissed her again, the tiny pleasured noises at his slightest movement inside her. He pulled back and watched the look of concentration on her face grow sharper as he stroked his thumbs over the invisible seams where her thighs met her torso, sliding closer to her hairline, and she licked her lips.

 

"Please," she breathed. Her hand twitched and slid down to his, and she tilted her hips back and opened her legs somehow wider for him, leading his fingers between.

 

He was so, so deep inside her that he felt the answer to the touch, the electric sigh of relief that her every cell gave when he completed the circuit. Her eyelids fluttered open and he felt the irrational urge again, to make her scream, to make her eyes open wide in surprise—

 

and they did, when at the same moment their hips moved, when he brushed a fingernail over her clit and felt her somehow spontaneously pull away and draw closer. "Yes," she gasped to him, her brow furrowing.

 

He closed his eyes and they were kissing again, hips motionless, his fingers moving in a series of slow circles over her wet skin. He could taste the salt that was them together against her tongue. And then her hands were cupping his hips, and all his control slipped immediately when she rose to meet him.

 

When he was aware again, not simply obeying the overwhelming urge to bury himself completely inside her over and over, her screams were just fading into gasped breaths. He was trembling and so was she.

 

He reached up and smoothed her hair back from her face, then wrapped his arms around her and felt some tiny relief as she buried her face in his shoulder. She had closed her legs slightly, but they were still tangled together.

 

"Baby, I'm sorry," he whispered. "I didn't know."

 

"Shh," she whispered, her fingers against the back of his head, her mind still spinning, eyes closed. "God help me. That was the fifth time tonight."

 

"You okay?"

 

She chuckled, slow and lazy, satisfied. "Way, way better than okay."

 

"Good." He ran his fingers over her cheek, and she finally opened her eyes, to see him staring down at her.

 

She smiled. "What is it about France," she said, her words slurring with exhaustion. "Damn, I could sleep for days." She looped an arm over him and nestled between him and the comforter, and, relieved, he felt his grip on consciousness loosen with the slowing of her heart.


	6. Chapter 6

She padded into the room in bare feet, while Ned was still stirring one last pot on the stovetop. She was staring down at the horizontally folded paper card in her hand. Ned caught the image of an off-white upside down crane in stark angles against a blue background, and then Nancy folded herself into one of the dining room chairs, one strand of her hair having escaped her pontail and falling forward into her eyes. She pushed it away absently.

 

"So who's the card from?" He nodded in its direction. "I didn't recognize the name."

 

The ghost of a smile crossed her lips at that. "Midori Nakamura," she replied. "I went to her wedding, over in Japan."

 

"That was..." He made a vague gesture, and she nodded.

 

"Yeah, before." Neither of them needed any further description. "I've sent her a few cards since then, and she was just catching me up on a few things. She wants me to do her a favor."

 

"Pretty card." He nodded at it.

 

"Yeah, she designed it," Nancy said absently. "Her little sister is spending a year at a college in Chicago and she wondered if I could just be a friendly face for her. Mari is a little sweetheart."

 

Ned raised an eyebrow. "So... she's only just started."

 

"Yeah. Midori can't find the address she had for her, but it shouldn't be too hard to find out."

 

"Not for a PI."

 

"And an FBI agent." Nancy smiled.

 

\--

 

_I ought to buy these by the gross_

 

Nancy smiled at the drugstore clerk as she placed her purchases on the counter. A bag of plain M&amp;Ms, an oversized pack of chewing gum, a top of the line pregnancy test.

 

She felt sick and trembly inside at the sight of it. Heisenberg uncertainty. If she knew, it would no longer be; if she didn't know...

 

But she had to know.

 

They had been back from Paris for three weeks. No spotting, no cramps, but this had happened before. She had never waited the entire week, though; and for that she felt a glimmer of hope. She had always jumped the gun, the first missed hour, missed day, but now she was being thorough, not wanting to waste her energy, even though she knew what restaurant she'd want to take him to, what dress she would want to wear, what lingerie she would want to wear after she'd told him. She had known that since the first disappointed time after. The first time she had felt her own true letdown, not the bitter taste of his filtering through her.

 

Nancy wasn't that much older than the majority of the kids in the bread shop. Its location on the edge of campus guaranteed a bustling trade in hurried college students, all in bright fleece pullovers and expanse of stonewashed denim. Nancy spotted Mari already seated at a window table, and she maneuvered through the chattering line, the brown bag of candy in her hand.

 

"Hey," Nancy said, and flashed Mari a smile. She looked like she needed it. "You all right? If this is a bad time...?"

 

"No, no," Mari said, her English flawless. She waved a hand and gestured Nancy into a seat, her eyes glimmering briefly at the sight of the bag of M&amp;Ms Nancy tossed onto the table. "Dessert first?"

 

Mari's hair was swept back into a no-nonsense ponytail, the fringe of her bangs just brushing the tops of her tortoiseshell glasses. She looked at home in the shop, just as she had in her parents' home back in Japan the last time Nancy had seen her. She was wearing a black ribbed turtleneck with pale khaki corduroys and a pair of weatherbeaten cowboy boots that Bess would have killed for. Her brightly colored knit scarf still hung around her neck, and she toyed with the end of it.

 

"I've never been here before, should we just skip straight to dessert?" Nancy smiled warmly at Mari, dropping her purse to the floor on the other side of her chair. She studied Mari's constantly shifting gaze, but the focus of her attention was always meaningless and brief.

 

"They have good food, if you're hungry," Mari said, and her shoulders slumped a little.

 

"You're not?" Nancy said. "I can just grab something and we could go sit in the park or whatever. I think there's one near here." A small pile of shredded napkin stood in front of Mari's entwined fingers. "But you should eat."

 

"Yeah."

 

Despite her agreement, Mari picked at her food, rearranging the salad on her plate into carefully piled stacks. "So Midori asked you to check on me?"

 

"She just knew you might need a friend," Nancy replied. "I know it's lonely to go somewhere for this long and not have anyone familiar."

 

"I have some friends here I met online," Mari replied, pushing her glasses up on her nose. "Not that I don't appreciate it. Your husband escaped college alive, didn't he?"

 

Nancy chuckled. "Barely. I think he was playing every major sport they offered, running his frat house..." But Nancy had only seen his graduation through pictures displayed at her in-laws', had seen his diploma already in its frame. She hadn't been there in person, to see it happen. A lump rose in her throat.

 

"And that's not the same guy you were with when you came for Dori's wedding."

 

Nancy shook her head quickly. "Well, I was with him, but that guy was Mick. He and I are... were old friends."

 

Mari smiled and looked away, her eyes hidden by the reflection in her glasses. "Old friends."

 

"So, do you have a boyfriend back in Japan you're pining over while you're here?"

 

Mari shook her head just as quickly as Nancy had at the mention of Mick. "No, no boyfriend," she replied, then took a long breath. "No boyfriend. How long have you been married?"

 

"Eleven months," Nancy replied. Give or take five and a half years.

 

"You two must not have gotten hitched for a baby," Mari said. "I think Midori would have made a visit if you'd had one. Seems like her friends are having baby showers every other week."

 

A smile curved her lips, at the thought of the bag waiting for her in the car, but it trembled at the end. "We didn't get married because we were pregnant," Nancy replied. "We really want to have a baby, though. And we've thought about adopting, really hard, so if Midori has any friends who aren't enthused..."

 

"You'd take a non-Caucasian?"

 

"I've already had Ned looking around. The adoption laws are so strict here, and it's not like we've even been trying that long... maybe one of these times he'll come back from a business trip with a little baby for us."

 

"He goes on business trips a lot?"

 

"Not so much, anymore," Nancy replied. "For a while I would barely have a week with him before he'd be gone again..."

 

\--

 

"She'd answer my questions," Nancy said. "It wasn't that. But she didn't want to volunteer anything."

 

"It's not like you're her best friend," George replied. "I mean, that would be like... I don't know, if Ned had a cousin and you were trying to get her to open up to you..."

 

"I've already done that," Nancy laughed. "Midori was just worried about her. Mari and her best friend back home haven't gotten to talk that much, and I guess with Ken away on a business trip, she just has too much spare time to worry about things."

 

George laughed. "She doesn't have a baby yet either, does she."

 

"No, she's doing a lot of painting though," Nancy said. Just then the timer went off, startling her. "Time's up," she said. "Wish me luck."

 

"Good luck, Nan."

 

Thirty minutes later Ned unlocked the door and stepped inside, tie hanging, briefcase dangling, hair mussed, five o'clock shadow. Nancy swallowed, smoothed her hand down the front of the glittering crimson gown, and stood. She watched his eyes light as his gaze slid up her silhouette.

 

"Let's go out tonight."

 

He opened his mouth to protest, but the look in her eyes changed his mind.

 

\--

 

"How long?"

 

The waiter brought the champagne, chilled in a silver bucket of ice, and Ned cast a distracted glance in its direction. "No, no, I'm sorry, we'll take it with us when we leave. You can't have it any more, right?" he asked, his eyes glowing in wonder.

 

"Right," she murmured back, reaching out to thread her fingers through his. "While we were in Paris, so it'll be..."

 

"June," Ned ticked off with her. "And you're sure? Blue dots or pluses or whatever?"

 

She nodded. "Blue dots or pluses or whatever, I even did it twice."

 

"Does your dad know?"

 

"You're the first one," Nancy replied. He laughed, and Nancy found it infectious, his hand warm in hers.

 

"Congratulations," the waiter said.

 

"Oh man, oh man..."

 

\--

 

The delicate lace and silk would have to wait. Edith and James were out, but Carson and Iris were home; on the way to their place, Nancy called Hannah, and left a message on her answering machine to call back.

 

"Are you-are you still going to be all right with poker night?"

 

"If the girls can come along," Nancy replied. "Even moreso now. If you'll let me redo the study." She smoothed his tie with her palm, her eyes glowing, the light gleaming from the curves under the dress, and Ned forced himself to pay attention to the road.

 

"Anything you want," he replied. Smoke grey eyelids, lacquered fingernails, and he suddenly wished he had wanted to wait to tell her parents.

 

"We're going to have a baby," he breathed.

 

The child would be spoiled beyond belief, only or perhaps just first grandchild of both their parents, because Paul's child strictly speaking didn't count. Nancy hefted the bottle of champagne as Ned pulled into the Drews' driveway.

 

"We're going to need a new car," Nancy said, turning to Ned. "One with more than two seats."

 

"Are we going out?" Carson called from the doorway. "I would have pulled my tux out of cold storage if you'd told me."

 

\--

 

"Promise me you won't trade in my Jag."

 

"Promise," Ned murmured into her skin as she tugged his shirt out of his pants and set her fingers to unbuttoning it. He reached behind her, fingers tangling in her hair, his mouth warm and tasting of champagne, and she closed her eyes. "You're not sore or anything, right?"

 

"Not except for the usual reasons," she returned, her smile broadening into a grin. "I have this perfect little..."

 

"In a minute," Ned replied, cutting her off, his kiss insistent. "Give me five minutes. Then you can wear whatever the hell you want, what the hell is this thing fastened with..."

 

He kissed her neck as he wrestled with the closure of her dress, and after a few breathless seconds she shoved him back. "No, you had your chance..."

 

He dropped to his knees and gathered the hem of her gown in his hands, and she leaned over, pushed his hands away. "Stay on your knees though," she requested, her eyes gleaming. Then she grabbed a plastic bag and vanished into the bathroom.

 

He wasn't on his knees when she returned. He was sitting up in bed, a bubbling flute of champagne at his elbow, and his eyes traced her every curve with reverence. She had pulled the sheer robe closed over the silk and slid into bed, on her knees, her eyes soft. He reached out and cupped her face in his hands.

 

"I love you," he whispered. "Not because," and he trailed his hand down to her abdomen. She lay back on the bed as he parted the robe, pushed up her gown to reveal the gleam of silk panties, and ran his fingertips light with wonder around her belly button, his gaze awed.

 

"You want this."

 

It wasn't a question, but his eyes met hers, and she nodded. "I do," she replied, "and I love you so much and I want to make you happy..."

 

"You make me happy every morning you wake up next to me," he insisted, stretching out at her side, his hand still running a light caress over her skin. "I told you, even if we had never..."

 

"But we have," she said, reaching up to take his face in her hands, and he leaned over to meet the kiss she gave him. She ran her hands over his hair, sighing. He practically knew how to untie that robe in his sleep, and he did so now, fingers trailing the strings over her chest, radiating heat through the silk.

 

"I guess now I'll have to stop seeing all those other girlfriends," he mumbled into her skin, through his smile.

 

"Or you'll never have another child, not even this one," she returned, running her fingertips over his ears, his cheeks, his lips. "Do you like this?"

 

He gave her outfit the obligatory glance. "Nice," he murmured. "You keep forgetting it's just the wrapping, I want the toy surprise..."

 

She sat up and he tugged the gown and robe off in one fluid movement, dropped them carelessly over the side of the bed, hooked his finger around the panties. She supported her weight on elbows and feet until he had them nearly off, then collapsed back to the mattress, her eyes shining as they took in her husband.

 

"In eight months we'll be lucky to get two hours' sleep in a row," she murmured, as he climbed on top of her. "And here you are trying to waste time we could be asleep."

 

"Darling, this is never a waste," Ned replied, trailing kisses down the side of her face. "But if you need me to convince you..."

 

\--

 

Ned had the time at work to forward her his more interesting junk mail, complete with reader commentary. He said it was out of boredom, but she knew it was because he liked to hear her repeat what he'd written and dissolve into paroxysms of laughter at the dinner table.

 

She'd almost dismissed one as spam, then thought maybe it was one of his pointed replies; an unfamiliar email address, subject line of hi. She clicked it.

 

Five minutes later she called Ned's private line. "Mind if we have a guest for dinner tonight?"

 

\--

 

Mari was dressed more conservatively this time, in a pale green angora sweater and heathered tweed pants, thick-soled black shoes on her feet, her hair in a rhinestone clip. She was even wearing contacts instead of her usual glasses, but Nancy thought maybe they were bothering her. Her gaze still wouldn't center on any one thing, and she appeared more agitated than she had at their lunch date.

 

Nancy had no doubt that Ned had told everyone in his entire office, anyone he'd had incidental contact with over the past twenty-four hours, security guards and coffee servers and meter readers, business contacts overseas, anyone who could listen. He was still bubbling over with it, still inwardly lit by the knowledge. Even though the two of them could maintain a hushed, sporadic conversation over a meal with no hurt feelings, he filled the space Mari left empty with stories about his job, his workmates, guys who came to their poker nights. Somewhere in there Mari asked if she could come, showing the first glimmer of interest Nancy had caught the entire night; Ned agreed readily, and Nancy couldn't remember the last time someone had fallen into the water garden or instigated a call to the police, so she didn't think Midori or Mari's overprotective parents would mind. Especially if they never knew.

 

Once he volunteered to do the dishes Nancy led Mari on a tour of their house, pausing at the door of the nursery. She hadn't look in since she'd known. She showed Mari the pale walls, the waiting crib, no longer tangible reminders placed in their house to rub in her failure.

 

"I just found out last night," she said, not sure why she was telling Mari when she hadn't even told Midori yet. "We're going to have a baby."

 

"Oh," Mari said, drawing her gaze with an effort from a stuffed animal, back to Nancy's face. "No wonder Ned seemed..."

 

"High, right?" Nancy completed with a giggle.

 

"Yeah, actually," Mari said. "Congratulations. I'm happy for you."

 

"We even..." Nancy looked down at her feet. "Let me find some shoes and I'll show you."

 

Ned's silhouette was in the kitchen window as Nancy and Mari walked out in the backyard, past the bare etchings of trees, to the enclosed garden. The glow of the lamps was soft, and Mari looked younger and frightened in their light. Nancy pointed out a few of the more beautiful specimens Ned had procured for her, and Mari nodded appreciately, then sat down on the bench at the back. The soles of her shoes dragged in the sand.

 

"Do you know Japanese?" Mari asked suddenly.

 

"Hai," Nancy replied.

 

"Enough to hold a conversation with me in it?"

 

"I probably could," Nancy said. "I might be a little rusty. Is something wrong?"

 

Mari muttered her sister's name, then unwrapped the scarf from around her neck, curled it in an unsteady coil and placed it next to her. "What about Ned, does he know any?"

 

"He has some friends who do," Nancy said, replying to Mari's barely audible question, but sensing it was the wrong answer, she continued. "He doesn't know quite as much as I do, but he's getting better. He knows a lot of different ones. German, French, Mandarin..."

 

Mari's fingers curved around the end of the bench, knuckles white with tension. Nancy's voice faded, to be replaced by the burbling of the aerator, the imperceptible sound of the goldfish, Mari's misting eyes following their fiery trails.

 

"I'm pregnant too," Mari said, and gasped back a sob.

 

\--

 

He had blond hair and green eyes, startling green, cat-eye green. Mari had come over early for orientation and he had been one of the guides, an upperclassman, doing community service for his frat or something, she wasn't sure if she knew that or if she just wanted to believe it. Mari was young for her year, inexperienced, and she'd never even had a boyfriend; it was so unbelievable, that her friendship with this boy had deepened into something like safety. Mari was lonely and she had found something that felt like home. She spoke of sparks and lightning and fireflies and stars, and Nancy remembered.

 

But it was in the past now; Mari had missed her second period and visited the student health center and was given the impossible results, antiseptic but surely impossible, surely the golden boy had not done this. Surely he had not.

 

Mari wiped at her eyes with the sleeve of her sweater. "I called Midori last night and told her," Mari confessed. "We can't tell my parents. There's no way."

 

"Did Midori tell you to tell me?"

 

Mari nodded, her face red and wet. "There are clinics here," Mari said. "Midori said if I told you that you could help me find one."

 

And Nancy realized. Mari was asking her to help her kill the baby.

 

She looked away, and her stomach lurched. "Which frat was it?"

 

Mari shrugged. "It was always dark, and besides, he isn't going to know about this. I'm not going to tell him." Her glance at Nancy was a warning against pursuing it.

 

"Do you have-health insurance or anything? Because what you're talking about, it costs money--"

 

"Midori will send money," Mari said calmly. "I'll pay her back."

 

"When?"

 

"She'll have it to me Thursday." Mari pulled a tissue out of her pocket and wiped her wet cheeks, then kept the tissue clenched in her palm. Nancy looked her over again. She was petite, at least a head shorter than Nancy, her hips were in proportion with the rest of her frame. Every now and then she saw flashes of the girl Mari had been when she had fallen in love, but for the rest of it, it was desolate and heartbroken and far too close to how Nancy had been during the years she and Ned had spent apart.

 

Nancy hooked an arm over her shoulder. "Oh, Mari, I'm so sorry," she managed, and Mari burst into a fresh bout of tears.

 

The two of them sat like that for a long while, and once Mari had dissolved into sporadic sniffling she knelt on her knees and watched the goldfish propel themselves around the pool. "What made you build this place?"

 

"Ned gave it to me," Nancy said. "As a reminder of when we found each other again. It was last January, in Hong Kong. This garden is a bit like that one."

 

"You found him in a garden?"

 

"No, but it would have been a bit difficult to build a restaurant in the backyard." Nancy smiled.

 

"How do you mean, found him?" Mari leaned back to see Nancy, hugged her knees to her chest. "Didn't you two know each other when you came over for Midori's wedding?"

 

"It's a long story," Nancy began, looking down at her hands.

 

\--

 

Ned was watching some dimly lit crime drama when Nancy and Mari came back into the house. "Nice garden," Mari said to Ned, reaching up to adjust her glasses before she remembered she wasn't wearing them.

 

"Thanks," Ned said easily, standing in his stockinged feet. "Come over for dinner again sometime. And we'll still see you for poker night?"

 

Mari dipped her head. "Okay," she said. "Nice to meet you."

 

The television was dim, her nightgown crumpled and discarded on the floor, a few hours later, as she idly trailed her fingertips over Ned's bare, glistening chest. He had an arm curled around her back to rest protectively on her stomach.

 

"She's so afraid," Nancy murmured, her head cradled against his shoulder.

 

"I hope he wasn't an Omega Chi," Ned said. Nancy craned his head back to look at him. "I know that's not the most important part of the story, but still..."

 

"Yeah," Nancy agreed, nestling back against him.

 

"I can't believe she wants to," Ned began, his fingers stroking her skin, and he found himself unable to finish. "After how long it's taken us."

 

"But she can't take a baby back home," Nancy said. "What a souvenier. A little cloth flag, some interesting clothes, and a half-American child."

 

"Full American, if she gave birth here."

 

"But she won't, and it's moot," Nancy said, turning her head to plant a kiss on his chest. "She made me promise to go with her to one of those... places."

 

"I wish you wouldn't," Ned said softly.

 

"She doesn't believe the way we do," Nancy murmured, but he put his palm on her face and tilted her to meet his eyes.

 

"So you'd let her do this?"

 

"What other choice do I have?" Nancy murmured.

 

Ned reached for the phone. "I have one," he said.

 

"We have an appointment for Friday," Nancy said into the receiver. "I called a friend. We can have lunch before we go."

 

"Thanks for doing this," Mari replied. "But I don't think I'm going to want to eat."

 

"I'll eat, then," Nancy said. "We're both eating for two now. But I wanted to ask you something, anyway."

 

\--

 

"You were thinking about it, weren't you," Nancy said, then crunched down on another bite of her sandwich. "That's why you asked if Ned and I knew any Japanese."

 

Mari shrugged halfheartedly. "But you have your baby," she said. "It just didn't work out."

 

"If you carried the baby to term, when would you have it? Before the end of the school year?"

 

"Yeah," Mari said, tracing the rim of her teacup with her finger.

 

"And a child born here is an American citizen. And if you would just think about this..."

 

Mari looked up. "But you made an appointment for us to go somewhere--"

 

Nancy shook her head. "Not yet," she replied. "And if you think about this, and you don't want to do it, in a week, then as much as I hate the idea I will make you a real appointment and we will go somewhere and do this. I think Ned might bodily restrain me, because my skin crawls at the thought of going into a clinic like that."

 

Mari was silent for a minute. "You'd do this," she said. "You barely know me."

 

"You loved him, didn't you."

 

Mari blinked, and a tear trailed hot down her face. "Yes," she said, her voice trembling.

 

"Would you keep the baby?"

 

Mari shook her head stubbornly. "I can't," she said. "My parents--"

 

"If you weren't about to go home to your parents."

 

"I'm too young for this," Mari said. "I can't--I can't stay in school and take care of a baby and deal with all this, and, it's not like it's some actual little person I can hold in my arms."

 

"But it will be," Nancy said.

 

"But I can do this now, this one thing, and I wouldn't have to go see a doctor or grow out of my clothes or be here with absolutely no one I can go to about this. I think Midori would fly over here and see me, but I don't want to do this to her. I don't want to do this to anyone." Mari's fists slid wetly over her cheeks. "You just don't understand."

 

"My friend Bess still has maternity clothes," Nancy said. "She's about your size. And if you don't like them, well, you and I can go on a shopping spree one weekend and buy the most glamorous outfits you've ever seen. And we can go to doctor's appointments together."

 

"I couldn't pay for all that," Mari said in a tiny voice.

 

"Ned and I would pay for it," Nancy said. "I've already talked to him about it."

 

"He knows I'm pregnant?" The look on Mari's face was stricken.

 

"He's my husband," Nancy said. "And I think he'd notice if I brought home a child who looked nothing like him, and demand a good explanation."

 

"Does he think I'm a whore?"

 

The fear and horror in Mari's voice was palpable. Nancy shook her head. "He doesn't think that. He didn't think that. He's just concerned about you, and he just, he and I just want you to know there's another way out besides doing this."

 

Mari took a deep, gulping breath. "Would you--would you promise to teach it Japanese?"

 

Nancy's lunch was stretching into an early afternoon off as she ushered Mari into April Callahan's office. Nancy and Mari were barely dressed in thin paper gowns as April greeted them, still looking over Nancy's last chart.

 

"I told April--Dr Callahan--that you're a friend of the family," Nancy explained, as April smiled and extended a hand. "And we just want to make sure you're okay."

 

"You're here on a student visa?" April asked. Mari darted a glance at Nancy, then nodded. "That's all right, since Nancy's volunteered to put herself down as your financial reference," April said.

 

"But you won't--you won't tell my parents, right?"

 

"Not unless you wanted us to," April replied.

 

\--

 

Mari's arms were wrapped tight around her torso. "I have to think about this," she muttered.

 

"It's all right," Nancy said.

 

"But you promise that you'll go with me if that's what I still want to do," Mari said, darting a glance over at her.

 

Nancy looked down at her shoes. "If that's what you want," she agreed dully, kicking at a stone.

 

"This is my body we're talking about."

 

"I know. And I know it's hard, and that you're afraid people will see you and laugh, that he will see you and laugh, that they will think you just gave it up--"

 

Mari laughed harshly. "Yeah, okay, you can stop now."

 

"You could come hang out with Ned and me," Nancy said. "Whenever you wanted. Every weekend. I don't know how many close friends you have here, if you're comfortable with them. I know sometimes Midori was so homesick she could barely stand it sometimes when she was here."

 

Mari nodded. "I like the garden," she said, running her fingers through her ponytail. "Would I be welcome even if I did decide that I don't want to carry to term, that I don't want to have the baby?"

 

Nancy swallowed. "Yeah," she said weakly.

 

"Would you look at me and think I was a murderer?"

 

Nancy shook her head. "I'm not you. I'm not going to make this decision for you. I'm just giving you an option."

 

They stopped at the entrance to Mari's dorm. "Okay," Mari said. "I'll e-mail you."

 

\--

 

White scrolled in silver, rich paper, square box trimmed in pink ribbon. She didn't know why she was irritated by it. Didn't know why she had even peeked into the nursery, to see the box there on the changing table. Had to have been him.

 

After a dinner featuring carrots as its redeeming value, Nancy found herself on her back in their bed, anger damping any reaction she had to the trail of his lips down the line of her chest. He murmured something into the skin of her stomach and Nancy's anger boiled over, and she reached down and took his chin in her hands, forced his head back so she could look into his eyes.

 

"Hey," she said. "I'm not just the wrapping paper now."

 

He smiled, soft and slow. "What did you think I was saying? Because I know it sure as hell wasn't appropriate to anyone but you."

 

She turned away, and he raised himself back to the pillows, stretched out by her side. "Hey," he murmured, reaching over to run his fingertips over her face.

 

She kept her gaze away from his. "I saw the present," she said.

 

He drew a breath, then a smile crept over his face. "You didn't open it, did you."

 

"No." She wiped tears off her cheeks. "For the baby."

 

"For our anniversary," he corrected her, leaning down to kiss the tears off her skin. "For you. For you, Nan, not the month-old in your belly."

 

Her brows raised, she turned back toward him, and his mouth closed over hers, soft deep kisses. He tangled his fingers in her hair and she groaned something inaudible, circling her arms around him.

 

"Promise?" she murmured, breathless, and he laughed into her neck.

 

"Nan, just... just," he said, kneeling, nuzzling into her, insistent kisses on her face, and she murmured her encouragement as pressed his mouth into hers again, hard. He stroked down over her inner thighs, gentle caress, and started tracing his path back down her body, giving her breasts his undivided attention.

 

"Not to imply any sort of deficiency," he murmured, resting his chin against her breastbone, and she looked down at him, ran her fingers through his hair, "but will these actually get bigger for a while?"

 

"Yeah," Nancy replied. "Can't wait, can you."

 

He nipped down her skin and she moaned, arching her spine, letting him open her legs, slide his fingertips over her, she reached up for the headboard and wrapped her fingers around it.

 

"Nan..."

 

"I wish you wouldn't," she murmured, her mouth falling open regardless.

 

"Wouldn't what?" He slipped his tongue over her wet skin, and she tilted her head back.

 

"You can't enjoy it," she gasped.

 

"What, you don't enjoy returning the favor?"

 

She ran her fingers through her hair and propped her head up to look at him. "I just know I wouldn't want to be down there."

 

He laughed. "So you're not a lesbian, that's fine with me."

 

"It just..." she pulled her legs together self-consciously.

 

"But you like it."

 

"Yeah," she admitted.

 

He gazed at her for a minute, then kicked his legs to the head of the bed and pulled her on top of him. "Now, if you feel the need, distract me from what I'm doing by doing something equally distasteful to me, if it's not too much trouble." She didn't resist as he pushed her knees apart and dipped his tongue between her thighs.

 

The trouble was, and they had run into it before, that he was so good she often just lay there, purring in contentment, neglecting him; he was guilty of the same thing, his breath coming in warm exhalations over her skin as she worked him over with her tongue. He rubbed his stubbly chin over her sensitive skin and she gasped.

 

"That's it," he murmured into her skin. "Damn, who taught you to be this good?"

 

and for a second he saw her, the ocean crashing to the sand outside, gleaming sequined gown, pale curve of folded limbs as she knelt over a bronzed silhouette, tapestry and the flush of golden heat from the fireplace

 

He couldn't stop the sudden spasm, the tightening of his muscles at the thought.

 

"You did, of course," she said, pausing in her ministrations, a smile in her voice. "In exact explicit detail. Am I better than your other girlfriends?"

 

He moved, and after a brief tangle of willing limbs she was pinned underneath him, his forehead against hers, their breath mingling across open lips. She closed her eyes for a second.

 

"Sorry." His weight restricted her movement, so she stroked her fingertips across his available skin, the taste of him still on her tongue. He shifted so his face was against the side of her neck, and she felt him relax with an effort.

 

"I love it when you make that little noise," he said. His breath ruffled her hair, and he took her earlobe into his mouth for a second, traced the line of it with his tongue. "You only make it when I'm eating you out."

 

She turned her face away from him. "I'm ugly down there."

 

"You're beautiful down there. Why do you think I spend so much time trying to get you naked?"

 

"Because you're stuck with me."

 

He shook his head, then leaned back, parted her knees until her legs were flat against the bed. He spread her with gentle fingers, studying her in the light of their bedside lamp, her skin flushed and trembling with her pulse. He traced his fingers over the folds of flesh and she moaned, unwillingly, trying to inch backward on the bed, until he leaned down and planted a kiss on her clit, fondled it with his tongue and teeth, and she was moaning, gasping, trembling, forgetting everything but the sensation of him on her, screaming as he rubbed his chin over it.

 

He mounted her in a fluid movement, already groaning, holding himself back from succumbing to the wet slide of her flesh under his, until one last stroke of a fingernail over her clit finished her and she spasmed around him, gasping for breath and screaming with his last thrust before he released, trembling, unable to part from her, unable to stop touching her.

 

"The only reason I'm stuck with you is because for five damn years I couldn't stop loving you and I didn't have the balls to do anything about it," he mumbled into her temple. "You're everything I've ever wanted, every single inch of you is beautiful, and I know you can feel that, those little jerks inside you, those are fucking gorgeous..."

 

She reached up and tangled her fingers in his hair, pulled him down to kiss him hungrily as the orgasm faded. He pulled out of her quickly, feeling the momentary discomfort tighten over her face, but her legs stayed wrapped around him, their tongues tangling, tasting of salt. She rolled him onto his side, tight to her skin, her fingers stroking down the side of his face.

 

"I love you," she whispered, and drew a shuddering breath. When she felt his eyes on her she gave him a small smile.

 

"That's better," he murmured.

 

\--

 

Mari sensed the hush in the crowd and looked up to see Ned at the door, holding it open for Nancy. They looked like they might have just come from a fashion shoot, Ned in a navy sweater and khaki corduroys, Nancy in a soft red tunic-length sweater that emphasized the still slender lines of her body and a pair of tailored black slacks. Mari made another notation in her notebook after she had signaled to them, and they took a seat across from her.

 

"Did you want to talk?" Nancy asked first. "Because if you did, and it's going to take a while, well..."

 

The air was crowded with the shouts of the kitchen crew, the shrieks of children from the ball pit. They were too close to campus to have a fast food joint all to themselves.

 

Mari smiled. "I'm a poor college student," she said. "Dollar menu is my friend."

 

Ned darted a glance around. "We're taking you out," he announced. "There's a place I know not far from here where we could actually hear each other."

 

Once they were settled in a curtained booth and the waitress had delivered the requested pot of tea, Mari appeared to visibly relax. She had left her bookbag in the car and looked calmer.

 

"If I... if we do this," she began, and neither of them had to ask what she was talking about. "Will you teach my child Japanese?"

 

Nancy nodded. "Japanese, French, Spanish, Italian, Mandarin, Russian, German, a bit of Portuguese, whatever you want. Between us we could probably teach just about anything."

 

Mari looked down at her knitted fingers. "What about school? College?"

 

"There are good schools around here," Ned began. "We're probably going to send our own child to a private school, and then anywhere for college."

 

"Domestic?"

 

Ned shrugged. "Domestic, international, wherever. I have enough money set aside for us to do that. And If you let us adopt your child, I won't treat it any differently than one we had ourselves."

 

"Can I come visit?"

 

"Of course you can," Nancy said, leaning forward. "Of course. You, Midori, whoever wants. I'd never say you couldn't do that."

 

Mari smiled nervously. "So where do we start?" she asked.

 

\--

 

Carson looked up from the papers spread on his study desk. "He has to sign a standard release," Nancy's father said.

 

Nancy slipped into her favorite chair, across from him, and propped her chin on her hand. "I don't even know who the father is," she replied. "He's probably still at school with her, and I have a vague idea of what he looks like, but that's it. And this, well... she might just change her mind."

 

"Not legally," he replied. "She's gone too far now, the baby has to be carried to term. But if she wants you to have it, if she's as terrified of her parents' opinion as you make her sound..."

 

Nancy smiled, softly. "I know I would have been afraid to tell you," she said. "But the way Mari feels about her parents, she may as well have killed somebody. They'd never let her live with it."

 

"It?" Carson asked.

 

"The shame of keeping a child born out of wedlock."

 

Carson nodded slowly. "You think I would have been that bad?"

 

Nancy steepled her fingers. "No," she said, cautiously. "Disappointed in me, maybe. Disappointed in Ned. Not that I think you would have felt any differently seven years ago, if a child had been involved."

 

Carson looked down at his desk, the ghost of a smile on his face. "You weren't ready," he replied. "And I wasn't ready. Not to give my baby girl away. I would have had it invalidated, annulled, something, but if you had been pregnant..."

 

Nancy waved her hand, dismissing the thought. They sat, looking across at each other, quiet for a moment.

 

"I'll draw up the papers," Carson said, finally. "Do this by the letter, Nancy. Don't leave any loopholes for him later."

 

"I won't."

 

\--

 

Tracy leaned down and retied her shoe, her brown hair up and away from her face in a high smooth ponytail. Her outfit was an exercise in elaborate casual, flared jeans and smooth sorority t-shirt layered over a tank top, temporary tattoo carefully inked onto the small of her back, small-lensed tortoiseshell glasses resting on her nose. She flipped through a few of her papers. So far she had twenty signed releases, five hastily-scribbled phone numbers, and a sprinkling of freckles on her bare arms from trudging down fraternity row. His was the third house she would hit, and likely the last; she couldn't wait to go home and scrub off the imagined stares of the boys.

 

A charming smile and a wink had won her Shelton's room number. He lived in a single on the third floor. She ran into a crowd of guys just outside the lounge door, and took the time to sell them. Wet t-shirt contest in two weeks at the Sigma house, due to some interesting twists on the game the judges would need to sign releases, and as many judges could sign up for the contest and a free six-pack as wanted. They always signed without reading. When she asked about Shelton, one of them volunteered to take her down the hall to his room, and Tracy ended up with a sixth phone number before she finally was able to knock on his door.

 

"You're not talking, like, drugs or anything, right?" he asked after she'd pitched him on it.

 

Tracy laughed. "Nothing like that," she said. "This is a standard release form."

 

She took the copy out of the manila envelope. His copy. With his name in bold type, red X's already inked in place. "You just need to sign here, and you'll be free. To judge for us," she said, smiling encouragingly.

 

"And you'll be there, right?" He smiled up at her, her curves already scrutinized.

 

"Sure," she replied easily. "You really should read it."

 

"I trust you," he said, scrawling his signature on the marked lines.

 

"Two weeks?"

 

"Barring bad weather," she replied. "I'm going to leave a copy with you."

 

He shrugged. "That's fine," he said. "Are you guys even pretending it's helping out a charity?"

 

"Charity in that some of the sisters need it," Tracy replied immediately, her smile fixed in place. "You have a good day, all right?"

 

"I definitely will now."

 

\--

 

"How many people are going to be here?"

 

Nancy started counting on her fingers. "My father, Iris, Ned's mother and father, my aunt Eloise, you, me, and Ned. So eight. And no need for a kids' table, yet." She smiled.

 

"I'm a little nervous," Mari said.

 

Nancy took some pie shells out of the freezer to start defrosting. "We don't have to tell them today," she said.

 

Mari was spending her Thanksgiving break with Nancy and Ned. Nancy's parents, of course, knew about the adoption, but Eloise and Ned's parents did not. Thanksgiving would be ideal, almost ironically so, for such an announcement. This wouldn't be Nancy and Ned's first Thanksgiving together, but it would be the first during which she cooked for this many.

 

Ned's sole responsibility was the turkey. Nancy was wary of frying it whole, she didn't have the time to spend babysitting it, and she was pretty sure he couldn't mess it up, and had teased him about that. Ned had taken the ribbing good-naturedly but had promised to Mari that he would make dinner for her sometime over the break, something not involving a leftover-turkey sandwich, so that she could judge his culinary talents for herself.

 

While they were grocery shopping Mari had asked Nancy about it, and Nancy had explained how Ned's cooking skills had been dismal before he had attended a French cooking school with her. Under cover, of course, while they had been tracking down a spy selling secrets.

 

"It must have been recently, if you're still teasing him about it," Mari commented.

 

Eight years ago, she realized. Couldn't have been that long.

 

The food was enough to feed an army, and Ned helped them bring in groceries between watching the pregame show. Mari was shocked at it all, all the dishes Nancy was planning to make.

 

"I thought you said eight, not eighty," she said.

 

"This is Thanksgiving," Nancy said. "We eat until we feel like we're going to explode, and do the same thing tomorrow, and the next day, until we're sick of leftovers."

 

Carson arrived first, with Iris and his sister Eloise. Eloise had a few more streaks of gray than Nancy remembered, but she was still teaching up in New York state. She hugged Nancy and congratulated her on the news that she would finally have a grandchild to spoil as she had her niece.

 

"It's been too long since you were small, Nancy," Eloise said fondly. "Back when a box of Barbies could entertain you for hours."

 

Nancy introduced Mari as the sister of her friend Midori, spending a year studying at the University of Chicago. The look in Eloise's eye made Nancy believe that Carson had made some preemptive explanation of her announcement, but Eloise greeted her warmly, without making any hint that she already knew. Mari was dressed in a loose white button-down shirt and soft black leggings, her hair in a low ponytail, her pregnancy well disguised.

 

James and Edith arrived with two bottles, one of wine, one of sparkling grape juice so that Nancy could at least pretend to have a glass. Edith hugged Nancy, gave her a smile, and again it felt like no time had passed at all, even though it had been eight years since Edith had told Nancy that she and James looked forward to having her as a daughter in law.

 

But everything had changed between.

 

Ned brought in the turkey and allowed it to rest on a platter while Nancy finished up the last-second things, the vegetables and pies cooling on the bar. He walked up behind her and circled his arms around her waist.

 

"This time next year..."

 

This time next year they would need a children's table. Or not, really, the babies wouldn't be anywhere near ready for solid food. His hand rested on her stomach.

 

"I love you," she whispered.

 

"Love you too," he replied.

 

Ned handled it tactfully, but then that was his job. She'd listened to him reassure people before, and these were ones he'd had much practice at reassuring. Mari would have a baby not long before Nancy, and Nancy and Ned were going to adopt the child.

 

And, gradually, at seeing their families' unabashed happiness over the announcement, Mari began to relax and answer their questions. Her sister would come visit around the time the child was born, she would be staying with Nancy and Ned for the most part, and then Eloise diverted the conversation to a discussion of how Japanese teaching differed from American just before Ned, his father, and his father-in-law adjourned to the living room to watch the game.

 

The girls gathered around the table to play games and rest up before attempting another round at the feast. Mari had learned card games but not so much about board games, so Nancy raided the ones Hannah had saved for her and pulled out a few of her favorites.

 

By the end of the evening they had been invited to Ned's parents for dinner and Nancy's parents for lunch, and after the long goodbyes and the shuffling of the various leftovers into the refrigerator, Mari was confused.

 

"So you do just eat all holiday," she said.

 

Nancy laughed. "Ned and I are only children," she said. "We don't have any brothers or sisters. So we get spoiled. These children will be the first grandchildren, and they'll be spoiled too."

 

"Even...?"

 

Ned nodded. "Even yours," he said. "My mom has been dying for grandkids since the day I left the house."

 

\--

 

Mari was installed in the guest bedroom, the one decorated in horses, partially because the suite it shared with another bedroom had its own bathroom and partially because it was the farthest they could put her from their own bedroom. They had a spare room downstairs but it didn't have its own bathroom, and Mari wasn't afraid of walking up the stairs. Doing so didn't wind her, not yet.

 

Nancy took a strange sort of pleasure in showing people to that bedroom, like it was a way of showing that the presents hadn't embarrassed or annoyed her. Stephanie certainly seemed to like it. Mari called it a nostalgic-childhood room, though her own had been done far, far differently. As had Nancy's, in twin beds and sunny yellow comforters and the latest electronic gadgets she could get.

 

"You can come in here, too," Nancy said, showing Mari the study just across the hall. Nancy and Ned had separate desks and computers, an enormous bookcase that took up a wall and part of two others, the game console where he spent his spare time. The mystery novels Nancy liked to read were lined on the shelves. Agatha Christies, Erle Stanley Gardners, Nero Wolfes. She kept reference books on nearly every subject, psychology texts and poison references. "If you brought your laptop and you have wireless internet access, we have that in the house too."

 

"I'd be surprised if you didn't," Mari said, gazing around.

 

\--

 

Nancy was in deep green, off the shoulder, elbow-length ivory gloves, ankle-length skirt. She wore her hair long and straight, the natural soft flip at the end brushing her shoulder blades. Her eyes were bright.

 

"It's as good a time as any."

 

She and Ned were attending the Bureau Christmas party. He was wearing a coal-black suit, open to reveal a red silk shirt, his hair gleaming, palm resting on the small of her back.

 

"Especially if you're not going to see him for another week or two." Ned leaned over and brushed a kiss against her forehead. "Go for it."

 

Roberts, perhaps due to the champagne punch in his glass, had nothing but congratulations for the two of them. Nancy, her eyes sparkling, had brought him over to Ned to introduce him, and Ned received the requisite pat on the back and knowing look.

 

When Ned had excused himself to refill Nancy's punch, Agent Roberts turned to her. "I just had a file come across my desk, and if you're going to be out for a while--?" Roberts raised his eyebrows.

 

"Yeah, it will be a while."

 

"Maybe you could show this guy some of the ropes before you go on maternity leave. He's a sharp guy, I've talked to his SAC in New Mexico."

 

Nancy's eyes gleamed. "Replacing me already?"

 

Roberts laughed. "As though we could. If this guy works out, maybe he could be your partner for a while."

 

Nancy played with the tips of her gloved fingers. "I thought I was a consultant," she said evenly.

 

"You still are," he replied. "Still will be. And if you're not open to the idea of a partner, that's fine."

 

She smiled, but the smile didn't reach her eyes. "Not really," she replied. "It would be unfair to have someone, get close to someone, and then go out on maternity leave indefinitely."

 

"Probably would," he agreed.


	7. Chapter 7

"Sometimes I wish I had a mother-in-law."

 

George coughed a few times, then replied, "I misheard you. I thought you said you wished you _had_ a mother-in-law."

 

Nancy, Bess, and George were having lunch at an Italian restaurant just inside the city. Nate and his father were taking care of the children for a few hours.

 

Bess tilted her head. "I am," she said. "I mean, that's what I said. And it's true. At least once Nancy has her baby, she'll have more than one option for childcare."

 

"Nate's dad doesn't like to take care of the kids?" Nancy asked.

 

Bess shrugged. "He's busy a lot," she said. "A Sunday afternoon for a few hours, fine. I don't even mind staying over there. But for a Wednesday night out or something? Nah."

 

George turned to Nancy. "So you'd give Edith up?"

 

Nancy paused, straw in her mouth, and thought about it. Since she and Ned had told his parents about her pregnancy, Edith couldn't have been nicer. "I'll put it this way," she said. "Once I actually have the baby, I think it's more like I'll be doing the childcare for Edith, not the other way around. The woman is practically salivating over the thought of her first grandchild."

 

"But doesn't she take you on shopping trips and buy you cool presents?"

 

Nancy shrugged. Then she thought about the shopping trips she'd taken with Ned and his mother, and smiled. "Ned and I usually manage to entertain ourselves when she's along."

 

Edith hadn't forgotten that Nancy had betrayed her son. And even though his parents had taken it as badly as her father, that fact seemed to have been conveniently forgotten. Mostly because, and Nancy was as sure as she had been seven years before, Edith thought Nancy had seduced Ned into marrying her. Not the second time, not the time they had stood up in the church with their parents and relatives watching, and had said their vows a second time, but before.

 

And Nancy could always feel that knowledge, whether Edith was making any allusion to it or not.

 

That night, after she had put on her customary camisole and flannel pants and slid into bed with her husband, she propped her head up on her hand and studied him in the artificial light.

 

"What?" he asked, without turning.

 

When she didn't reply he looked over at her, his chest bare, remote control cradled loosely in his palm.

 

"Is your mom still mad at me?"

 

"About what?"

 

"About— before."

 

He didn't appear to have heard her. His face stayed static, the same blank, vaguely interested, expression, but it was frozen. He turned back toward the television.

 

She was reaching for his hand when he turned back to her.

 

"If I talk to you about this..." He looked away. "If I do this, then we're going to have sex until we pass out. I want that understood."

 

She nodded, wordless. He threw back the covers.

 

"Where are you going?"

 

"Downstairs," he replied. "You didn't say I had to be sober. Go pick out something cute to wear, I'll be right back."

 

Deciding on an outfit was nerve-racking. Ned didn't go for verbal foreplay, like this. Ned went for a stroking hand resting just above her skin, some delicious whispered threat that ended in them making out wherever they were. Laundry room, shower, study, nursery, wherever. If the impetus was strong enough, he didn't stop long enough to carry her to their bedroom. But this, this was like foreplay in reverse, the stark statement, the look in his eyes...

 

She settled on a black slip, its hem striking the very tops of her thighs, covered in a nearly transparent long-sleeved robe that hit just back of her knees. She climbed back into bed, under the covers, comforter up to her chin, and waited.

 

He walked back in with an unopened fifth, a bucket of ice, an empty glass, and a 2-liter of soda, on one of the trays they had been given as a wedding present. He arranged them carefully on the bedside table, took a shot to start out, and found a movie playing on one of the pay channels. Nancy stayed under the covers, not talking, not touching him, painfully aware of his reluctance and her own fear.

 

He drank at a steady pace, as the movie progressed, as his cheeks colored in the darkness, but she knew him and she could read the signs that his mood was not letting him reach the stage of intoxication he wanted, the stage where he could talk to her and forget later what he had said, what he had been feeling as he'd told her. A few shots and he was beyond that; the movie no longer able to hold his attention, he let his head loll to the side, toward her.

 

"What're you wearing?" he asked, his voice deceptively clear. He reached toward her, peeled back the comforter, then rolled over onto his stomach, fingers sliding up to her shoulder to pull back the robe. She braced herself on her elbows and pulled herself up, and he drew it down her arm, kissed her shoulder.

 

"Too many clothes," he mumbled, "always too many clothes. Come here," and he didn't even bother to toss the robe off the bed once he'd pulled it off her. He shook his head when he saw the indecently brief silk panties she was wearing under the slip. "Always too many."

 

His eyes were bright, and she had made love to him before when he was drunk, but not like this. Not while she was this stone, painfully sober, not when her attention was so terribly centered on him. She half-hoped he had forgotten, that he would reach toward her with customary lecherous intent, and as he crawled out of his shorts and pushed up her gown she almost let herself believe it.

 

"I'd never believe there was a baby in there," he said, a simple wonder on his face as he spread his flat palm over the breath-trembling surface of her abs. "I'd never believe it.

 

"Take it off," he said, in the same tone, cultivated disinterest. "Slow. I want to watch."

 

As she climbed to unsteady legs on her side of the bed, still in the faint silhouette of the ignored television, she felt none of the safety or comfort or, to be honest, innate sexiness, she had felt any other time she had undressed for him. Stripped, in all honesty, that was what she had done, and this, what she was doing now, felt as vulgar as the word sounded. The look on his face wasn't rabid, carnal lust, but may as well have been, for her unease.

 

When she came back to him he had the sheet draped over the lower half of his body, leaving his chest bare, and he drew her to him, over the sheet, so that the fabric remained between them. Her chest was warm and bare against his, her arms doubled and resting against him.

 

"She loved you," Ned said, his chin nestled against her scalp. "Thought you were the best thing ever invented. Dad thought you were great. Everyone thought everything between us would be great, fine, we'd get married after college. But it wasn't going to be for a while. We were too young to settle down."

 

She nodded, awkwardly, her face pressed against his chest.

 

"'It was for the best,'" he said, stumbling slightly, his voice harsh. "That's what they all said. 'They all,' as though everyone on earth was in agreement about us... it seemed like they were. That's what they said when you left. For the best. Everything worked out great. It was a mistake and it had never happened and we hadn't been on that beach together and I hadn't put a wedding ring on your finger and you and I had never, ever made love.

 

"Keeping that letter you wrote me in my wallet would have been better than a condom," he said. "Safe sex, hell, looking at it made me want to die."

 

She moved restlessly against him, but his hands didn't move, fingers interlaced, resting in a tangle at the small of her back.

 

"But I couldn't," he said. "I felt physically ill every time I looked at it. You gave me no closure, Nancy. No fucking closure. I kept feeling like if I could see you, somehow, if I could make you listen to me, in person, on the phone, something, something, then we could... something could be okay again. Something. And my parents picked up on that, Nan, they knew I was frustrated, and the longer it went that I didn't hear from you. Nan, I was angry, and hurt, so fucking bad."

 

"I know," she whispered into his chest, his grip tightening on her skin.

 

"You don't know," he hissed. "You don't understand it and you don't know how it was for me."

 

"Ned, I'm so sorry," she said. Tears pricked behind her eyes.

 

"'It was for the best,'" he repeated in mock singsong. "Mom set me up with other people. Mom called you an unfeeling bitch and she knew what you had done to me."

 

Nancy pushed herself up until her forehead was against his, her eyes on level with his, and took a gasping sob of a breath, her tears sliding down her cheeks to fall onto his, her knees planted on either side of his hips. He reached up, instead of smoothing her hair back, he laced his fingers in its strands and held on tight.

 

"Ned."

 

"Fuck you," he said. "How dare you ask me if she still hates you, when I hated you then, I hated you, I had never hated anyone that much. And I still loved you, and that made it worse. You left me, you betrayed me—"

 

She kicked the covers down, from between them, put her hand against his face, felt his shuddering breath against her lips. "You did that to me, you did that to all of us," he said, his voice softer now, softened by the sudden moisture on his face.

 

"I loved you so much," she whispered, blinking tears off her eyelashes. "That last night with you... that night when you were studying, and we, you were inside me, Ned, God..."

 

"But it didn't matter, did it," he said. "None of it mattered."

 

Her hand still resting against his cheek, she buried her face against the side of his neck, her expression tortured. "It mattered," she whispered. "I never forgot anything that happened when I was with you and I never spent a day I didn't wish things hadn't gone differently."

 

He curled his fingers against her scalp, and she slipped one of her knees just between his thighs, their bodies tangled and flushed in the darkness.

 

"We were too young."

 

She reached up and wiped her face, leaned back so she could regard him with shining blue eyes. "Maybe I was," she said. "I had a lot of growing up to do before he raped me."

 

In the space of a breath he had kicked the rest of the covers away and rolled over with her, so that her head rested on her pillow and he on top of her, his hands still at her face, eyes still wet. "Is that why you were afraid I was going to do that to you?"

 

"I don't know," she whispered. "I don't know. You didn't. I never...I was never afraid you were going to do that. Being with you was exciting, and scary, but not, not because I thought you would force me. You're not like that."

 

He traced her lips with his finger. "You afraid right now?"

 

She kissed his fingertip. "I've already said yes."

 

"I can feel your heart beating," he murmured, his eyes firm on hers, his fingers trailing to just below the curve of her breast. "What could I have done to stop him?"

 

"Nothing," she replied, her voice breaking. "I was there and I couldn't stop him."

 

He traced the side of her face, the pulse in her neck. "While I burned for you—"

 

"I thought about making sure I could never be hurt again. I lost my best friend the day I lost you. I thought I'd lost everything and he took away even more."

 

"You never lost me."

 

"When I closed the door, it was over," she whispered. She leaned up to kiss the side of his neck. "He made sure of that, he told me you'd never take me back, there was no use in trying..."

 

"And he was wrong, wasn't he."

 

She searched his eyes. "Sometimes I think he was right," she said. "After what you said tonight. There's no way you could take me back. I was the one who walked out, not him. I was the one who decided that how strongly I felt about you just wasn't enough."

 

"Do you still think that's true?"

 

She closed her eyes as he brushed her hair back from her face. "If I could go back to that day I would have gone to the door and met you naked," she said. "I would have lived off ramen noodles and helped you study, I would have gotten my licensure and cheered at your football games. I would have been there to see you graduate. I would have made myself good enough to walk through your parents' front door and have them call me their daughter in law without remembering me as the bitch who hurt their son." She reached up and drew his face down to hers, until only a breath separated them. "I would have defied anyone, your parents or my father or anyone else, to tell us we were wrong."

 

"Are you proud to call me your husband?"

 

Nancy blinked up into his filling eyes. "I always have been," she whispered. "Sometimes I think that's what stopped me from ending it, even after him, even after he had turned me inside out and violated me, that remembering what you and I were was enough."

 

"I thought about it too," he said. "Because never in a million years did I think we would ever be together like this again."

 

He leaned down and kissed her so deeply she lost her breath, so sweetly, the taste of his tears on her cheeks, his weight shifting as he touched her thigh and she opened her legs willingly, eagerly, alcohol bitter against their tongues. He knelt over her, desperation and impatience in his caress, and when they joined it was like a whispered prayer, wordless thanksgiving. She tilted her head back, a quiet groan escaping her lips, and he leaned forward against her again, trailed kisses down her neck, listened to the speeding throb of her heart.

 

She breathed his name, her arms up around him, her mouth falling open as his hips surged against hers, she was wet warmth and perfume and the soft silken slide of her fingertips over his sensitized nerves, her toes sliding against the soles of his feet. He kissed her again and felt the hitches in her breath as he moved inside her, short insistent thrusts so deep, her grip tightened on his skin. Their kiss ended audibly, his breath in short puffs against her face, against her eyelids.

 

"Open your eyes," he gasped to her, and she obeyed, sapphire gaze searching his eyes, blinking slowly with every groan. He moved over her and she was beyond speech or thought, centered on his movement and the beginning of her instinctual response to it, and with her first spasm he groaned aloud, the slight movement of her calves across his. He closed his eyes, lips pressed to the hollow of her collarbone, as her whispered encouragement became orgasmic screams.

 

He rolled off her and she drew a trembling breath, her skin glowing in the soft light as she turned toward him, facing each other across the pillows. Her eyes fluttered open and she moved into his embrace the second he offered it, her face against his chest, his arm curved around her back.

 

\--

 

Jean was staring at her, and Ned was nowhere around. She had fallen asleep with his arm across her, but now, she could not feel him at all.

 

She stood with her back against the cinder block wall, arms crossed, eyes downcast. After a moment of silence she looked up at him for the briefest second, then looked away.

 

"So you're having his baby."

 

Her eyes shifted to her abdomen. She could not see her feet; her belly was rounded, heavy, solid.

 

"Yes," she whispered.

 

No bailiff around, no one watching. He was wearing a white t-shirt and dark pants. And the door was hanging open.

 

When she saw that her mouth went dry.

 

This was all impossible. Somewhere she was in bed with her husband, not here, and that should have been enough. Should have.

 

She started to draw a breath and his hand rested on the edge of the door. He pushed it open and the metal squealed, and there was nothing but air between them now.

 

A small trapped moan escaped her throat.

 

"Nancy—"

 

The paralysis loosed and she drew breath with a sob, pushing away from the movement as the fear bled into full-throated screams. She was almost to her numb feet when a hand closed around her wrist, and her wide eyes rolled toward it, her mouth falling open.

 

"Nancy!"

 

She sank to her knees on the carpet, still pushing at the grasping hand with the heel of her own. Her screams faded into frustrated, desperate moans. As his other hand grabbed her arm she pushed herself to her feet again, tugging at him like a five year old.

 

"It's me! Nancy! What the hell, Nan—"

 

The fight left her then. She allowed him to pull her back onto the mattress, back into his embrace. She shook, startled by his every movement, and he stroked her hair back from her face, pressed his lips to her forehead.

 

"What's wrong," he breathed against her skin, sliding his hand down to her back, the other cupping her cheek. "Nan, are you all right?"

 

She swallowed against her dry throat and nodded, dully. "I'm okay," she breathed.

 

"What happened?"

 

"He was..." She reached up and ran her hand through her hair, then put her arm around him, held him close to her. He could still feel her shaking. A tear slipped down her cheek and onto his forearm. "He was in his cell and he was free, he was coming out for me..."

 

"Him?"

 

She nodded and took a sharp breath. "He's never done that before."

 

"What are you talking about," he said, his voice low.

 

She told him. With her arms up around his neck and her face against his shoulder she told him about the dreams she thought his presence would mute, but she had been wrong. He made her tell him about all the dreams she'd had, the ones while he was in Germany, and the more she said, the tighter his jaw became.

 

"Ned," she whispered, her face wet now, her skin damp where it touched his.

 

"Why didn't you tell me," he said, and his voice was so cold.

 

"You didn't ask for this," she replied. "You didn't sign on to be tied to some lunatic for the rest of your life. They're just dreams. Just bad dreams."

 

"If they're just dreams then you could tell me," he replied.

 

To that she had no answer.

 

\--

 

When they woke the next morning she seriously considered calling in sick to work. She felt numb and incredibly tired, tears having dried hard onto her cheeks.

__

_Michael_, she remembered, and tossed back the covers, scowling. She couldn't miss her replacement's first day.

 

Sleet and snow had been falling steadily all night, and the dim light making its way through the curtains was muted and sullen. She dressed in black, wrapped a wool duster around her, and tramped through the slush out to her car.

 

She had read over his file and was fully prepared to dislike him. According to the reports of his supervisors he was good but inclined to cut corners, just cocky enough for his abilities as a field agent. The nature of their cases forbid such behavior.

 

She heard a tap and looked up, into Roberts' warm eyes. "He's here," he announced.

 

She smoothed her hair back under the barrettes, set her shoulders, and walked out to meet the guy who might very well replace her, if she did decide to go on permanent maternity leave.

 

The mug shot attached to his file had not done him justice. She felt her mouth go dry when she realized his gaze was centered on her. Whatever words of introduction Roberts was speaking fell against deaf ears.

 

He was gorgeous. Dark, but not quite black, hair, eyes the color of caramel, just taller than Roberts and dressed in charcoal grey suit and red tie. He took her hand and—

 

Whatever she'd been feeling, as she shook his hand, slowly faded. The confidence in his grasp, the dismissal of the wedding rings prominent on her finger... she felt her lip curl faintly.

 

He wasn't Ned.

 

At least, not under good lighting.

 

\--

 

Stone was watching from his own desk, knowing at the back of his mind he shouldn't be staring but finding himself unable to stop. Nancy looked utterly taken with the new guy, at least until Roberts had left and the two of them had started talking to each other.

 

He found himself wishing she'd stare at him that way, and then remembered the stroke of her hand down her husband's cheek on the half-lit deck.

 

He smiled. Maybe Michael needed to see his competition.

 

\--

 

Nancy didn't connect the gleam in Ellison's eye with her insistence that Nancy and Michael go out to lunch, until much later, after the two of them had been seated in booths a little too intimate for her liking, at a sandwich shop downtown.

 

"You seem like you're on top of your game," he said, arm stretched across the back of the booth, the expression on his face inappropriately relaxed for someone she had known so short a time. "Why are you training me to take your place?"

 

"Didn't Roberts tell you I'm pregnant?"

 

He shrugged. "Guess he thought it'd be better coming from you."

 

Her cell phone rang, and she answered it hurriedly. "Hey."

 

"Sorry it took me so long to get back to you," her husband said. "Did you still want to go out? I think I can get—"

 

"No, something came up," she replied. "I'll tell you about it later, and I'll definitely take a raincheck on lunch."

 

"Anytime," he said easily. "Love you."

 

"Love you," she replied.

 

Michael tilted his head. "That the guy who knocked you up?" he asked, after she hung up her phone.

 

Nancy stared at him for a minute. "Yeah," she replied, her voice icy. "That was him."

 

"How long do we have until you're on leave?" he asked, then smiled up at the waitress who brought their drinks.

 

Way too long, for my liking. "About five months," she replied. "Give or take. We're adopting a baby who's going to be born a little before this one."

 

"You really are a glutton for punishment, aren't you."

 

He asked her about other things, little icebreakers, how long she'd been married, and though she was tempted to reply with the actual number of years she gave the standard answer. He said he had looked up her file and noticed the outstanding number of completed cases her department had to its name. And with every question she felt a bit more nervous, as though any answer, even consisting of two words, was enough to allow him a glimpse of her unguarded.

 

"Are you the one who was involved in that court case?"

 

She glanced at her watch. Due to Ellison's winking "Take as long as you want," she had no excuse to get back to the office. Their sandwich plates had long been cleared away. Her foot was jerking in an erratic rhythm under the table. "Yes," she answered shortly.

 

He reached out and took her hand. As she moved to jerk away, he said, in a soft steady voice, "I have a gun pointed at you under the table."

 

She would have risked it before, but for the sudden paralyzing knowledge that she wasn't just one anymore. She began to turn her head, to look out at the restaurant, to see if she could catch anyone's gaze.

 

His grip tightened. "Eyes on me," he advised her.

 

The lunch crowd was thinning out, anyway. Her empty glass provided testament to their waitress's forgetfulness.

 

"We're going out to the car. And if you do anything suspicious, it will look like an accident."

 

Once they were in the car he made sure her cell phone was in her purse and that her purse was far enough away from her to cause a problem. He put her in the back seat, her wrist handcuffed to his, child safety locks, and there was nothing, nothing she could do.

 

"I see I didn't look enough like him to do it," Michael said. He smiled at her. "Just relax, this is going to be over with soon."

 

"What is?" She felt like she couldn't breathe.

 

He spoke the word.

 

She never remembered what the word was, later. She never remembered anything other than a sense of peace and tranquility and knowing that all was right with the world.

 

When he was finished, while they were still in the car together, she called Dr Strathman and told him that she was going to be busy for a while, and would call him when she had a somewhat normal schedule again.

 

She hung up the phone and they were in the parking lot of the complex, he was smiling, and...

 

She smiled back, unevenly. "Okay," she said slowly. "So let's get started."

 

\--

 

She walked into their house, fumbling for her ringing cell phone. His car was already in the driveway. She was an hour later than usual. Nothing thawing on the counter, she'd been too tired to remember dinner at seven o'clock in the morning.

 

Ned was seated indian-style in front of the crackling fireplace, in an old ivory sweater she remembered very well. The land phone was cradled to his ear. When he heard her entrance he turned, lips parted slightly, and ended the call; her phone chirped angrily to let her know she had missed it.

 

"Are you all right?"

 

She bolted the door behind her. She had looked down at the phone a dozen times, a lie trembling on her lips, but no strength in her to tell it. Her fingers danced across the keypad and the alarm system was activated.

 

"I'm fine," she replied, meeting his eyes. "Sorry I didn't call."

 

"I was getting worried."

 

He watched as she approached him, unbuttoning her jacket, draping it over the back of the couch. She unzipped her pants at the side and stepped out of them, folded them over the jacket, and walked to the kitchen in a grey silk camisole, long cream-smooth legs bare. Her fingers brushed against his on the way.

__

_silk muted in the moonlight, her hand in his_

 

His breath caught.

 

"What do you feel like?"

 

He followed her into the kitchen. The fingers of her left hand were fighting the air, one knee bent, foot crossed behind the other ankle, her hair tumbling down her back as she gazed into the sterile light of the refrigerator. Toenails stained rose pink.

 

He raised his chin. "Takeout Chinese." A challenge in his voice, but it wasn't that much of a gamble.

 

She turned her head and regarded him from over her shoulder, did not break his gaze as the door glided back into place. She was smiling faintly. "Takeout it is," she said. "You order. I'm going to take a bath."

 

Her fingers were still fighting the air.

 

\--

 

He followed her upstairs after he called in their usual order. The camisole was discarded at the foot of the bed. She had left the bathroom door open, and he walked through the gloom to the square of golden light and the curve of her silhouette. She had unfastened her bra and it hung loosely from her shoulders, her fingers hooked around the sides of her lace underwear, and he watched as she pushed it to her ankles, the bra falling down to her elbows, and she discarded them both in one smooth movement.

 

She turned and he, somehow, felt even more like a voyeur than before. But she smiled and he stepped into the square of light. Despite the vague unformed fear he had felt at her entrance, the scent in the room was nothing other than hers, a delicate perfume that clung to her hair.

 

He didn't know what he had been expecting.

 

The water frothed into lavender foam in the tub, and she stepped toward him, sliding her palm down the front of his sweater. "You want to join me?"

 

Before, he would never have been caught dead in a warm tub full of scented foam. The naked woman in the tub with him would have done a great deal to help with any potential embarrassment caused by smelling of lavender, but he felt himself relax as he leaned back against the wall of the tub, and Nancy came to him, knees bent, straddling his thighs, her arms warm and up around his shoulders. She rested her face against his neck.

 

"Love you," he murmured, his face turned toward hers, feeling every breath as she drew it against his skin. His arms rested weightlessly just over her hips, his hands at the small of her back.

 

"Love you too," she replied. The pressure on his shoulders increased slightly as she braced herself and moved forward, against him.

 

His breath caught. "We don't have a lot of time," he murmured.

 

"That's never stopped you before," she replied, laughter in her eyes.

 

"That's it," he said, mock roughness in his voice, and bent his knees, so that she slid down, hips flush against his. She reached behind him to balance herself on the lip of the tub as she moved over him, her hair, damp at the ends, cascading down against his face. He tilted his head back and closed his eyes, and she kissed him briefly, his arms sliding around her waist to hold her against him.

 

"Ned..."

 

The doorbell rang. He opened his eyes and looked at her. She leaned back from him, her face calm now, the edge in her voice having vanished. "Go," she said. "I'll wait."

 

"Please do," he said.

 

He shrugged into his bathrobe and brought the food back upstairs to their bedroom, but by the time he returned to her she was out of the bath and in her own robe. A sheer silky garment revealing every inch of her freshly warm, pink skin, but a robe anyway.

 

They ate on the bed, by the light of the television. Her robe, already loosely tied, fell open, and she made no move to adjust it. The cartons stood on the dresser, half-empty and strobe lit by the television, as they lay back, content, his arm supporting her head. She stretched her legs lazily, and his eyes traced the movement, the contours of her flesh.

 

He dipped his tongue between her thighs as she took his erection into her mouth and stroked it with her tongue, sucked it, he ran his teeth over her clit and her response was an immediate shudder. He sucked her clit and she made a quiet whimpering noise, and he groaned against her wet trembling flesh as she opened her legs further to him, reached up and traced soft fingertips over his balls.

 

He felt himself begin to break, to rock into her touch, and he curved two fingers up inside her and felt her arch underneath him. He nipped at her gently as she began to grind against his fingertips, and as she whispered something against his skin, her tongue flicking over the tip of his erection. He came just before she did, hard, in the wet hollow of her mouth, her tongue curved against his shaft, and she shuddered as his teeth stroked over her clit, her hips meeting the rhythm of his suddenly numb fingertips, and he groaned as she tightened and spasmed underneath him.

 

He rolled over and collapsed onto his back, one hand still curved over the smooth skin between her thighs, and sighed. "Swallow?" he asked, tilting his head back.

 

She drew the back of her hand over her mouth. "Already have," she murmured.

 

He drank another can of the beer he'd had with dinner and had a good buzz going when she took a sip of it to wash the taste of him out of her mouth, then climbed on top of him. He drew the robe down her arms and watched the concentration on her face in the half-light. She licked her clit up the underside of his erection and he tilted his head back, groaning softly as she mounted him, her breath hitching as she leaned over him, her palms flat on the mattress just above his shoulders, the touch of her hair faint over his skin. He reached up and scissored his index and middle fingers around her nipples and flicked his thumbnails over them, and she responded with a moan and a more violent descent, taking him inside her so deeply that he could feel the pain at the edge of her cries.

__

_drown out the sound of his voice inside my head_

 

He couldn't hear the words but he could feel them, and a cold fist gripped his heart. "Nan?" he breathed, and his cock was parting her flesh, deep, the hollow between her thighs was so wet, so hot, throbbing against him, she tossed her hair back

__

_please, Ned, please_

 

and he slipped a fingertip down the center of her chest, down, to the rippling grind of her thighs, just inside the seam, the little

 

She screamed as he fondled her clit again, and her voice was desperate, begging for release. She ran her hands through her hair and the light fell over her, traced the lines of her body, and as he whispered her name, fingernail just over the tip of her clit, they came together, and everything held its breath. He shifted his hips under hers and she screamed an answer, her wet flesh clenching around him as he finished his release and she, shaking, rolled off him.

 

\--

 

She was insatiable that night. He knew in the back of his mind that they had to go to work in the morning, that they should stop, but when she touched him he didn't care, didn't give a damn anymore. The beer didn't help. She was on her back, legs open to him, and he came to her, slid inside her, teased her until she was begging him and then fucked her until she came, breathless, tears standing in her eyes, her lips curved up. He drifted off and she stroked her fingertips down his chest, down to his still-moist flesh, explored until he was hard again, then leaned down and enveloped his erection in the weight of her breasts, her nipples hard against his thighs, and he, barely awake, spanked her, rocked against the yielding flesh until he came, then leaned up, pressed his face between her spread thighs, slipped his tongue into the sensitive hollow of flesh and kissed her.

 

He came back from the bathroom and she was on her back, silk scarves draped over her breasts and between the press of her thighs. His gaze took it in, then traveled back to her face, the faint smile he found there. She drew the scarf slowly up between her legs and he watched, eyes wide and staring.

 

"Tie me up," she said.

 

"You sure?"

 

She nodded.

 

He didn't do it too tightly, and he made sure with her that she could get out of it if she wanted to. His physical response to her request was obvious and immediate. He tied her facing the headboard, palms down so she could support her weight on all fours, and left her legs untied, then knelt behind her, his knees between her open lower legs.

 

He paused there, hands on either side of her, his face just above the middle of her back. He could feel her breathing. He kissed the skin just over her spine, and she took a shuddering breath.

 

She was wet, wet with arousal and his saliva and seed, as he slid gently between her thighs. She tossed her head back in the middle of a moan and her hair fell against his face like silk, as he moved over her, inside her. He slipped his hands under hers and twined their fingers together, felt the scarf around her wrist, his breath warm and moist against her back.

 

He fucked her, listening with half his attention for the safe word while they ground together, her fingers tightening on his, he reached up and groped his fingers over her breasts, cupped his palm around one and her breath caught but she did not release it in a request for him to stop. He felt her orgasm begin, felt her tremble as she rocked into the rhythm of his thrusts, and his mouth was dry as he came.

 

When he pulled away from her she shifted her body so she could bury her face against the pillows, her legs still spread, thighs damp, breath coming in gradually relaxing gasps. He ran his hands through his hair, then reached down and spread her legs and slid beneath her, on his back, her bound arms against his shoulders. He snaked his hand between their bodies and up so he could cup her cheek, and she opened her eyes halfway, lazily, to look down at her husband.

 

"Okay?" he asked, drawing her face down to his.

 

She kissed him with sudden intensity. "Yeah," she murmured against his mouth as it ended.

 

He trailed his hands down her body, then pushed her up to put some space between them, her breasts swaying gently in the air. He took one into his mouth and suckled gently, his other hand sliding down to the sensitive flesh just below her navel, to the flat there. He flicked his tongue over her other nipple and she shied away from him, softly, stopped by the scarves holding her to the bed.

 

He pushed himself back up, and it was the beer, had to be, that had to be the reason he cupped his palms around her cheeks and looked into her eyes.

 

"I want to do something," he murmured. "You can say no."

 

"What is it?"

 

"I want to fuck you in the ass."

 

She collapsed down against him, heedless of the massive erection just below her spread legs, and pressed her face against his shoulder. He put his arms around her. "You can say no," he repeated.

 

"Untie me," she breathed into his skin.

 

She leaned back so he could slide up, his back resting against the headboard, as he untied her, and as he began on her right wrist she slipped her tongue over the tip of his cock, and his eyes rolled back slightly. She nipped softly down the shaft and his fingers fumbled the scarf, but he finally got it undone. She lifted herself in a fluid motion and straddled him, his back still pressed against the cold metal of the headboard, and she rocked into him, her heartbeat perceptible as it trembled just below her breast. She mounted him over and over and he let her control it, the angle and the depth and the force with which he was rammed into her, and she screamed with her mounting frustration until they came, again, trembling and wordless.

 

"I guess that meant no," he said, once he could talk again, his fingers stroking down her cheek.

 

She chuckled, shortly, her face against his cheek. He waited, drowsing, for her to tell him that it was off-limits and she never wanted to hear him mention it again.

 

She kissed him, close-mouthed, then pressed dry kisses down the line of his neck. "Give me a hickey," she demanded, voice muffled by his skin. He complied, face bent just above the point where her shoulder met her neck, and she laughed at the sensation, her fingers fluttering in the dark. The television was off now, remote somewhere in the tangle of their clothes on the floor. He pressed her backward onto the mattress and sleepily trailed his mouth down to the inner thigh of her right leg, where he gave her another, inhaling the scent of her, tasting her flesh. When he was finished he traced his thumb over it, the slick of his saliva over her skin, and then climbed up to lay on his side beside her, their heads at the footboard, legs almost tangled.

 

"Okay," she whispered, and his eyes popped open to stare into hers. She trailed her fingertips down the side of his face. "If you're gentle," she continued, her eyes following the trail of her fingers instead of meeting his own. "And do it with your fingers first."

 

"Are you sure?" He forced her chin up, forced her eyes to meet his.

 

"No," she admitted. "But I trust you. And if I say no then you'll stop."

 

She didn't say no. He lifted her, unbound this time, to her hands and knees, and knelt behind her, then touched her softly at first, not overtly sexually at first, until she seemed a bit more relaxed. He slipped his fingers between the cleft and touched her, then reached between her thighs with his other hand and parted her flesh, wet his hand with her arousal and stroked her clit a few times for good measure. He pressed his wet fingers just around, then just inside, her, and she sucked in a breath, waiting, and when she didn't say no he kept going, traced just around and then just inside, and unexpectedly she was rocking into the movement, arching into a supplicant position, rolling her nipples between her fingers. He wet his hand between her thighs again and stroked his erection with her arousal until his cock was wet, throbbing, his mouth dry, and entered her slowly, listening for her refusal. She whimpered desperately, gasping in shallow breaths, and he inched in as far as he dared, then began a gentle thrusting that she met and returned, her fingernails biting into the tips of her nipples.

 

"Fuck me," she breathed, through her gasps, and he found her clit again, stroked her as he began to rock inside her, in slow thrusts, her breath in time with it. She groaned her frustration and his heart was suddenly throbbing as he reached down, took her hand and cupped it over hers, led her fingers down between her thighs, curved his index finger around hers, touched the tip of it to her clit.

 

She stroked her clit, then threw her head back and screamed, as he fucked her, her face pressed against the pillows, his hand cupping hers between her thighs, feeling the desperate quick strokes of her fingers against her flesh, and he came, her fingers buried up to the last knuckle in her hollow, stroking the wet flesh, and he could feel it, he had begged her to do this but she had always refused before, she must be as drunk as he.

 

"Did you do this when we were apart?" he asked her, his breath in harsh gasps, his hips still rocking meaninglessly with hers as she touched herself, his face close to hers.

 

"Yes," she cried out.

 

"Did you think about me when you made yourself come?"

 

She nodded, violently. "Fuck me," she sobbed to him. "Put your fingers inside me, put your cock inside me, God, God, I want it, fuck me—"

 

"Come for me," he whispered, holding her hand against her still, and she writhed, her screams above his hearing as she touched herself harder, faster, her fingers against her clit, he was impossibly hard again at seeing her face contort with the beginnings of her orgasm. She stiffened, her mouth falling open, her legs moving restlessly over the sheets, and then her hand relaxed and he let it fall open, limply to the bed beside her. Her breasts trembled with the pounding of her heart. He picked up her hand and kissed her fingertip, flicked his tongue out and licked the tip of it softly.

 

Her face was turned away from him. "God," she whispered, ashamed.

 

"That was so fucking hot," he replied, then led her hand down to his erection. "Damn. Damn, Nancy, you used to do that..."

 

"It's disgusting," she replied.

 

"I spent a lot of time as a teenager doing that," he said. "Don't knock it. Damn. Nancy, God... you came, right?"

 

She nodded, then took the hand not resting against his reddened flesh and dragged it through her hair. "I bet you think I'm a whore."

 

"If you were doing that in a strip club for money, then yeah." He lay back down, nestled against her, kissed her mouth. "Was that uncomfortable for you?"

 

A tiny smile crossed her mouth, one that made him even harder. "No," she said.

 

"I think I have one more in me," he said. "You still got an itch?"

 

"Wash it off first," she told him. She started to struggle to sitting. "And I need to wash my hand."

 

They washed off, the light in the bathroom bright in their eyes, and then he pulled her into his arms and carried her back to bed, on her back, her legs falling open, eyes half closed, distracted with exhaustion, as he joined with her again. She wrapped her arms around him and held her to him, and the words he could not hear echoed in his head again. If it weren't so late, maybe, but all he was left with was that same vague unease, feeling the strength of her embrace.

 

"You okay?" He brushed her hair back from her face as they parted wetly, and her mouth was open, her breath back to harsh gasps, his words slow with sudden bone-deep tiredness. "Did I hurt you earlier?"

 

She shook her head, wordless. "You didn't hurt me."

 

"Good." He collapsed to the mattress and snuggled up against her, his limbs stiff as he pulled the covers up over them.

 

\--

 

She felt sore. Sore and exhausted, and the taste of shame still lingered over her, as she watched Ned fall asleep. The sight made a wordless dread rise in her, but just before she followed him, she murmured, "Ned, hold me."

 

He put his arm over her, and his hand rested over their child.

 

\--

 

She thought later that she had not dreamed, but when she woke she felt depressed, defeated.

 

"You weren't supposed to get pregnant," Michael had told her, earlier, handcuffed to her in the car. "Did he rape you, switch your pills, something?"

 

Nancy shook her head, woodenly. "I changed my mind," she said, her voice light and dreamy.

 

"He's going to come back," Michael said, rubbing his face. "When I tell him about this he isn't going to be happy. When are you due?"

 

"June 15."

 

Michael chuckled and shook his head. "Damn," he whispered. "Nancy, you're going to leave Ned tomorrow."

 

"No," she said, in that same voice, but he could hear the steel behind it.

 

"You are going to leave him."

 

"No," she said.

 

"You are. I'll give you a week."

 

"No."

 

"You do this," he said evenly. "You do this or I'm going to kill that baby. Jean will want it dead anyway, I'll just be doing him a favor."

 

A tear slipped down her cheek. "No," she moaned. "No, no..."

 

"By the end of the week?"

 

"No."

 

"You have to leave him."

 

"I won't leave him."

 

Michael sighed. "If the mountain won't go to Mohammed," he murmured, then looked at her.

 

\--

 

When he woke the next morning, Nancy had curled away from him, his chest to her back, his right arm looped over her torso so that his hand was resting against her still-flat abdomen. Her right arm was resting over his, her fingertips resting between his fingers.

 

He stretched and rolled onto his back, and Nancy made a faint protesting noise in her sleep as his hand moved. He rubbed his left fingers over his face and yawned, his eyes heavy with exhaustion. The last time he had collapsed to the mattress, the swimming neon letters of the clock radio had read some time after 4.

 

Something dark on her neck. He brushed her hair aside.

 

A hickey.

 

He vaguely remembered inflicting it, his face buried against her neck, wordless pressure rising in him, the sound of her laughter. He hadn't given her a hickey since he was seventeen, she sixteen, and her father had forbid them see each other for a week after that. And after, from fear and then force of habit, he did not mark her as his in that way.

 

Secret places, perhaps.

 

He rolled out of bed, leaving her to the intrusion of the promised alarm as he climbed into the shower.

 

He didn't think he'd had that many beers but the night before was all blurred motion and shadow and—

 

Ned believed in three varying degrees of intimacy. Lovemaking could be engaged in in public, and was the thousand tiny things they did while together, the concerned glances, the holding hands, the embraces, even kissing to some degree. Lovemaking was what they had done before their marriage. The threat, without the promise.

 

Sex was once the lovemaking had become foreplay, once the threat needed a promise to back it up. Sex was like a gentle intrusion, a reaffirmation, making up after a fight, something meaningful and beautiful and what romance novels were full of. Whispered endearments and softness and light.

 

Fucking was what they did in dressing rooms, on the kitchen counter, when he woke up in the middle of the night and found her willing, what they had done on that trip to Paris and what had resulted in the conception of their child. And that was what last night had been. He was sure of it. His groin ached with the knowledge. She had been insatiable, wet hot breath and splayed legs and a husky pleading that had kept him coming back to give her more, and more, to hear her scream his name again. He was surprised their neighbors had not called the cops. Fucking was obeying the wordless ungoverned instinct, desire, need, to find his way into her wet flesh, to force her open and ram, grind, rock himself into her, until she screamed, until he felt the answering clench between her trembling thighs, until she was begging, pleading him to fuck her, please God end it in release...

 

He groped a hand over his back, and felt a sudden sting when he scratched. When he emerged from the shower and wiped the condensation from the mirror, livid red scratches showed down his back, the dried track of her nails.

__

_she was on fire last night, and i was breathing gasoline_

 

He grinned, to himself.

 

He walked back into the bedroom, towel snug about his waist, as she was beginning to respond to their blaring alarm clock. The sole of his foot passed over something smooth, and he looked down to see a tangle of scarves on the floor. Nancy put her palms over her face and the lines of her wrists were faintly red.

 

He felt his mouth go dry.

 

She accepted the kiss he leaned down to give her, but when his movements became more deliberate she moved back. "Have to take a shower," she said, blinking, faint smile on her face, and she kicked the covers aside and shut the bathroom door behind her.

 

\--

 

The alarm went off. Nancy smacked it with her hand and put her head back under the covers, groaning.

 

Ned had almost sunk beneath the surface again, falling back into blissful sleep, when he heard Nancy mumble "I don't wanna go..." She sat up and dry-washed her face a few times. "Hey."

 

"What," Ned replied, softly, not wanting to move.

 

"I'm gonna call in sick today."

 

"Good," he purred, reaching over for her. She relaxed back down to the mattress and into his embrace, then pressed a kiss against his cheek.

 

"Why don't you call in sick too?" she asked.

 

Ned opened his eyes and looked up at the ceiling, considering. "Let me call in," he said. "Maybe I could swing it."

 

\--

 

"I love you," she told him suddenly.

 

They were downstairs, on the couch, her feet tucked under his leg, halfheartedly watching something. She was gazing at him with such intensity that he was momentarily startled. The audience laughed on the television and Ned thumbed the volume down.

 

"I love you too," he said, reaching over for her. She was so rare to initiate. At the touch of his skin on hers she climbed into his lap, traced her hands over the lines of his face, her eyes searching his. She laced her fingers behind his neck.

 

"I mean it," she whispered. "Thanks for staying off to hang out with me."

 

"Hey," he replied, running his fingers down the side of her face. "It's all right, baby."

 

She leaned in and rested her face against his shoulder, his touch still trailing over her skin. Her fingers against the back of his neck.

 

They didn't move from that tangle for a while, and Ned felt a curious sort of protectiveness about her that he couldn't quite explain, but when he suggested a movie she extricated herself anyway and climbed to her feet. They dressed warmly, had lunch at a tiny Indian place, hit the earliest movie they could find, and went for ice cream after. The movie hadn't been particularly engaging, but the seats in the theater were easily joined and they had made out like teenagers. Nancy was still gazing at him with that bright, flushed look when her cell rang.

 

He was licking the back of his spoon at the time, and when he looked up at her it was like someone had flipped a switch. The color had drained out of her face, the expression in her eyes was resigned and disappointed. "I have to take this," she said, and answered it quietly as she walked just out of the ice cream shop.

 

Work, he thought, and took a more determined spoonful of his dessert. He watched his wife pace back and forth, one hand to her forehead, as she apparently remonstrated with whoever was on the other end of the line. Maybe her trainee was throwing a fit, or something. From the way Nancy talked about him, Ned saw Michael as, in turns, a patronizing and arrogant jerk or someone she could occasionally lower herself to put up with.

 

When she walked back in he smiled at her. "All taken care of?"

 

She appeared to make some sort of decision, then, and her eyes turned thoughtful as they caught his. "Yeah," she said, and smiled at him. "All taken care of."

 

When they arrived back at the house he installed himself on the couch to do some paperwork for the next morning, and Nancy went into the kitchen to make the preparations for some lavish evening meal, promising she'd make something she didn't normally have the time or energy to do. When she read off the menu he looked up at her, their eyes met, and his murmured praise trailed into nothing as she walked, with thinly veiled intent, to him from across the room, and he tossed the papers onto the coffee table and took her into his arms as she climbed into his lap.

 

They were making out again. Like they used to do when she still lived with her father and

__

_before, that was the only word, the only reference_

 

they were alone in the house, Hannah gone and Carson not expected back for hours, the television lighting their faces on as some half-apologetic alibi. She kissed him hard and he found his way under the layers of warm clothing to the shocked expose of skin just above the small of her back. But the lines which had frustrated him were gone now, and she was pushing him back to the cushions, onto his back, her hair falling forward and brushing his cheeks.

 

A timer went off. In a blur of limbs and murmured apologies she was suddenly gone, the living room had faded in the twilight, and Ned was left staring at the ceiling. He ran a hand through his hair, swallowed, and as he turned his head Nancy was coming back to him, her arms out to him, and he abandoned all pretense of doing any work for the rest of the night.

 

\--

 

Another Thursday.

 

She hadn't called to say she was skipping her session, and Ned didn't like to return to an empty house, so he was spending that time in a bar, with his friends, halfheartedly watching ESPN and shooting pool.

 

Scott had just stepped up to the dartboard when his cell phone burred quietly in his pocket, against his chest. The bar was so loud that he wouldn't have been able to hear it ring. He made a dismissing gesture to his friends and walked out onto the street, where the wind was blowing through the fabric of his coat and shirt, straight through to the bone. When he flipped open his cell, their house number greeted him.

 

"Nan?" he answered. "Sorry, I lost track of time."

 

Maybe because his stomach usually led him home, to see whatever she'd cooked, but the guys had ordered a few plates of potato skins and that had been enough to stave off the worst of it. And the guys had been expressing their condolences that he had to put up with a pregnant wife for the next few months.

 

She cleared her throat, and he winced against the imagined force of her epithets. But her voice, when it came, was soft.

 

"I know I don't usually do this," she said. She sniffed. "Can you come home?"

 

"Of course," he replied, immediately, pressing the phone against his ear, against the howling wind. "Are you all right?"

 

"I'll be okay when you get here," she replied. Then she took a breath. "I love you."

 

"Love you too," he replied.

 

The guys groaned when he told them. Steven Hyer said this would be it, the last time they'd see him until the baby's eighteenth birthday, and they should buy him another round. Ned shrugged it off and walked out. He had visions of their house ransacked and Nancy on the floor, bleeding, the phone still cradled in her fist. All the lights on, broken dishes and smashed appliances and rent fabric on the floor.

 

He shook his head. She would have told him, and called the police besides.

 

There were no police cars out front when he pulled up, barely stopping to pull his parking break before he climbed out of the car. The keypad glowed but the house itself was dark. He took the steps by twos and opened their bedroom door, his heart pounding.

 

Fear and adrenaline etched the scene into his mind. She was sitting up in bed, a lamp illuminating her features, a book open but forgotten on her lap. She wore her customary cotton sleeping shirt and pants, but a heavy terrycloth robe over them. Her eyes were startled, staring at him as he pushed open the door.

 

"Ned," she cried, breathless, pushed the covers back, the book falling to the floor. He opened his arms and she was in them in the next second, her heart pounding against his, face buried against his shoulder.

 

"Hey," he said, reaching down to push her hair back.

 

"I'm just so glad you're home," she said, and he was startled to see tears in her eyes.

 

"Are you all right?"

 

She reached up and dashed the tears from her eyelashes. "I'll be okay," she murmured. She kept an arm looped around his waist, though.

 

"I'm sorry," he said again, lamely. No broken dishes, no shattered glass, no blood on her face. But her voice, he could have sworn, in her voice...

 

"Did someone try to break in?" he asked. "Was that what made you afraid?"

 

She shook her head, not meeting his eyes. "I held off calling you as long as I could," she said. "I don't know what was wrong, but I think it's okay now."

 

"Did your session with the doctor go okay?"

 

She nodded, but he saw her mouth turn down slightly, and wasn't sure she was even aware of it. "Went fine."

 

"All right."

 

He took his clothes off and washed his face, made himself ready for bed, the entire time with Nancy near him, her hand in his, on his shoulder, against his skin. Sometimes she moved away from him, as though ashamed at maintaining such intrusive physical contact with him, but he would always retrieve her hand and watch her face relax ever so slightly.

 

When they went to bed she curled up close to him, and he put his arm around her, watching her breathe in the grey wash of faint light. Her eyes fluttered closed, finally, the tension ebbing from her muscles.

 

Only when he could hold out no longer did he finally ease himself under the covers, and Nancy was immediately against him, as though afraid that only contact was keeping him in bed with her. He didn't sense anything wrong, he kept telling himself; only the alarm Nancy's call had wakened in him. That was all. Just some remnant of their time apart.

 

He brushed a kiss against her forehead, and she stirred slightly, eyes closed.

 

"It's started," she breathed.

 

\--

 

_She said she'd be home._

 

What he felt at first wasn't fear, not really. He felt lazy and she didn't have anything obviously thawing for the evening meal, so he ordered out for pizza and saved her plenty, the entire time waiting for the lock to click back, for her to walk through the door. But she didn't.

 

Usually when she went over during sessions she would call and let him know. But he was loathe to interrupt them; maybe she and Strathman were having a breakthrough and he would just destroy their concentration with a phone call.

 

He was seated on the couch, facing the television, but had not heard a thing coming through their five-point-one-channel stereo system since he'd turned it on. He thought about going upstairs, playing a game on his console, but realized that he could not move. Literally could not.

 

He had to see her walk through that door.

 

He looked over at the land-line phone, charging on its base, and thought again about calling her. The worry had spread from nonexistent and easily dismissed to a nagging impossible to ignore. She had never been this late before. Something had to be wrong. Last time this had happened he had called her, and she had appeared, as though willed into existence by his resolve. Ned stood and was halfway to the telephone when he heard her key in the lock.

 

"Nan?"

 

"Man, I'm famished," she said, hair loosely swept back from her face, lips curved in a wide smile. She looked out of breath. Her eyes overbright, sparkling.

 

The sudden suspicion bloomed and he shoved it from his mind without another thought. She wouldn't, she had sworn, she would never. She and the doctor had had a good session and he was...

 

He almost felt jealous.

 

"I got us some pizza," he said, for lack of anything better to say, watching her drape her scarf over the back of the couch, remove her gloves finger-by-finger and place those in her coat pocket. She breezed into the kitchen, heels clicking on the linoleum, and walked back out with a slice in her hand and a bite in her mouth. She sat down opposite him and wolfed down a few more bites before she turned to him, inquisitive look on her face.

 

"Still hungry?"

 

Any further appetite he'd had was gone. "Go ahead," he said, gesturing vaguely. Once she finished the slice she produced a napkin, wiped off her fingers, removed her shoes. He half-watched her, waiting, but his patience wore thin.

 

"So, where were you?"

 

"The session ran over," she called, from the kitchen. "I would have called, but you know how it is."

 

He bit back a reply. "Sure," he called back. She walked back in carrying a canned caffeine-free soda and a few more slices piled on a paper plate.

 

"Anything good on?"

 

And, like that, the subject was dropped. Once she finished her meal she scooted closer to him on the couch, rested her head on his shoulder. They watched in silence for a while.

 

During a commercial break he turned to her, kissed her gently. "Love you," he said, his eyes searching hers.

 

"Love you too," she said, lightly, and reached up to kiss him back.


	8. Chapter 8

Valentine's Day had sucked.

 

Mari had expected nothing less of the holiday, really. She had girlfriends who were usually there for a study break or a party, and there was Nancy, of course, but...

 

Nancy.

 

Mari dreaded going over to Nancy's house on February 15. She was still in a bad mood from the day before. Thomas had been in the dining hall with another girl, and Mari had sat out of their sight, picking at her food, her rounding belly hidden under a baggy sweatshirt and loose-fitting carpenter jeans. Her parents had called, and she had been tense during the entire conversation, as though some turn of phrase or accent in her words would communicate to them the trouble she was in. And the last thing she wanted was to go over to Nancy and Ned's house and see the aftermath of their celebration of Valentine's Day, the roses and empty bottles of wine or cider or whatever, the look of adoration that could pass between them, not when Thomas was walking around with some other girl whose stomach was flat and eyes were bright.

 

The last sheaf of papers was on her desk, awaiting her signature, and those of the adopted parents she had chosen for her baby. Her little girl.

 

Mari called ahead, which was a good thing, because Nancy was moody. Today, though, she was bright, happy to have Mari come over for a while around dinnertime.

 

Mari had been spending a lot of time over at the Nickersons', but she was having crying fits (for absolutely no reason, she told herself sternly), and whenever she was there Nancy seemed to vascillate between accusation and adoration toward her husband. With everything else that was going on, Mari thought it best if she limit the time she spent with them. Sometimes Ned had obviously been sleeping on the couch, sometimes he was in the guest bedroom, and sometimes she had been startled to find him staring intently at the television in the study, hands glued to the controller, his jaw set tight.

 

Nancy had confided that a good deal of the time she just wanted Ned to keep his hands off her and stay the hell away from her. Mari, for her part, would have paid good money to be in a situation where she could even consider refusing something like obvious physical attraction between Nancy and Ned, but she couldn't really blame her. Half the time she lay awake in bed trying to get to sleep, she was plotting ways to kill the man who had gotten her into this situation.

 

When she arrived, it seemed that Nancy was doing the same. Mari had a key and knew the access code by heart, and when she walked in Nancy was sitting on the living room couch, arms crossed over her chest, mouth a straight thin line, her cheeks flushed red. The silence in the room was almost deafening. Ned was sitting at the table in the dining room, still eating, but Nancy's half-emptied plate was pushed aside, her napkin in a crumpled ball.

__

_Did I come at a bad time_ rose to Mari's lips, but Nancy had waved off such questions before. There was no bad time for Mari to come over, she had told her time and time again. Seemed like recently, though, that times had been bad for Ned to come over.

 

In a flash Nancy's almost pointedly good mood was back, and she was offering Mari something to drink, a place to sit. Ned flashed Mari an apologetic smile and she almost felt badly for him.

 

She looked at the two of them, the parents she had chosen for the baby she still sometimes couldn't believe she was actually having. Sure, things were strained between them, if Nancy felt half as moody as she. And then they would drop the thirty-pound weights hanging off their chests, and life would go back to normal.

 

She gave them the brightest smile she could muster, and dug the papers out of her backpack.

 

\--

 

It's normal, they all said.

 

They all. Ned snorted. No wonder he and Nancy were only children. Any couple having to put up with a pregnancy the first time would hardly be sane or rational if they considered another. He couldn't do anything right, as far as she was concerned. And they had been fighting, the kind of fights he had thought ended during their courtship. Hysterical accusations and crying jags and stony silence.

 

Ahh, but then there was also the withholding of sex, which he definitely hadn't had to endure during their courtship. Can't withhold something never promised.

 

He sighed to himself and pressed the button on the elevator.

 

If the pattern held, tonight she'd be all over him. Maybe. Maybe. Unless he looked at her slightly wrong, breathed a bit too loudly, said something unintentionally offensive. Then he'd be on the couch, or worse.

 

The elevator slid open. Danielle Cartier was walking down the corridor, heels clicking on the floor, thin tight sweater and black skirt. She glanced in his direction, then did a double-take and shot him a smile, gold hair shining, green eyes wide and sparkling as they stared up into his.

 

"Good morning," he told her.

 

"Good morning," she replied, giving him the barest nod of her head before the swish of her skirt followed her.

 

\--

 

"Four more months," Nancy sighed heavily, easing into the booth.

 

George looked amused. "Yeah, and I thought you wanted a baby."

 

"Silly you," Nancy retorted. "No tennis, no strenuous activity, no cases involving serial killers or gang murders because my heart rate may rise to unbearable levels..."

 

"And yet you're still allowed to have sex?" George asked.

 

Nancy snorted. "We don't," she replied. "Well, not for the past week, anyway. Half the time when I look at him I just wish he'd drop dead."

 

"You must be a joy and delight to hang out with." George sipped at her water, then nodded when the waitress approached their table.

 

When they had decided on a grilled chicken salad for George and an entire medium pizza for Nancy, the waitress promised a basket of rolls and headed for the kitchen, narrowly avoiding a tray full of drinks on their way to another table. Nancy put her cell phone on the table and sipped her own water, staring at it.

 

George nodded at the phone. "Expecting a call from Ned?"

 

"No," Nancy replied, her voice flat. She flushed slightly, then looked up. "Let's go out this weekend."

 

"All of us?"

 

"No, we can do a girls night. No husbands. I can be designated driver. I just want to get out of the house, get away from it, go somewhere we can have some fun."

 

George was nodding in agreement when Nancy's gaze strayed back to her silent phone.

 

\--

 

Ned thought he'd managed to get away from their table in the bar undetected. Mike was telling an elaborate story Ned had heard a thousand times before, involving a pet snake and the fraternity mixer party their junior year and the tank of helium they'd had out back, and everyone was staring at him, mouths wide. But Ned caught Samantha tossing her hair out of the corner of his eye, and she groaned. The sound was overloud, playful. Dark hair, creamy shoulders, shining red silk top. She had been his secretary before one of the more infamous poker nights. She still smiled at him in the hallways, but that was at work and this was most definitely not work, not with the way his fingers and toes felt numb and slightly tingling. Not with the thin sheen of perspiration on her forehead, the exaggeration of her movements.

 

"Have another round," she told him, hazel eyes wide, lashes batting at the air. "Don't leave just yet."

 

He shrugged apologetically. "Have to," he said. Because if he had another drink he wouldn't be able to find his car, much less drive it home.

 

The thought of his car made him angry again. Nancy was insisting that he trade it in on a minivan. A damn minivan. He'd asked why they wouldn't trade hers in, or better why they'd even need to trade in a car at all. He could afford to buy as many minivans as she felt like having. She'd launched into some tirade about how he wasn't responsible or ready to settle down unless he was going to make sacrifices for their child, and he'd shot back something about working all those years to provide a house to an ungrateful...

 

Things had gotten ugly after that. Uglier, really. They'd been pretty bad to start out with.

 

He left anyway, before a shot could set him back thirty minutes or another hour. All the guys thinking he was going home to a wife who would meet him at the door, take him by the hand, and lead him upstairs for a night wilder than the ones Samantha was rumored to provide. Nancy should get on her damn knees in thanks that he hadn't taken another round, taken another hint, and ended up with Samantha's blackened eyelashes fluttering against his thighs.

 

But she wouldn't know.

 

Nancy was working out when he came home. Thin white t-shirt hugging the bulge in her belly, navy sweatpants ending in gleaming white tennis shoes, hair pulled back into a sweaty ponytail and the flush of exertion in her cheeks. She didn't say anything to him. He went to the kitchen, drew himself a large tumbler of iced water, and watched her idly as he drank it.

 

When her workout was over she stopped the tape and turned off the VCR, headed upstairs, and Ned flipped through the channels and watched snippets of news. Missing children, court cases, drug busts, the stock market news. His buzz was wearing off. Nancy was in the shower.

 

He could go upstairs and surprise her.

 

He snapped off the television, the downstairs lights, set the keypad correctly after three tries, made his way up the stairs. She was already finished with her shower. The sound of the hairdryer caused a dull throbbing in the back of his head. He tossed his clothes at the hamper and was sitting in his shorts at the foot of the bed when she came out of the bathroom, her robe wrapped around her.

 

"I'm sorry," he said in greeting.

 

She tilted her head, watching him warily.

 

"You were right, I was wrong."

 

"About what?"

 

"About everything."

 

He earned a smile, at that. A brief, small one, but a smile nonetheless. "About time you learned."

 

He opened his arms, willing her to step closer. "And we will go when you're free and pick out the best minivan ever. DVD player, stereo system, convertible, whatever you want."

 

She laughed. "There are no convertible minivans."

 

"There are if you want there to be. My girl gets whatever she wants."

 

She sat down next to him, his arm around her shoulders, gazing at him, and he had the disquieting feeling that she was actually looking at him and seeing him for the first time in days. Her eyes were twinkling. She leaned forward and kissed his cheek. "Thanks," she said. "And I'm sorry I blew up."

 

"Which time?" he asked, then clapped his hand to the side of his head. "Forget I said that. Blanket apology accepted."

 

She nodded, and closed her eyes when he kissed her cheek in return.

 

\--

 

The relative peace of the following day was interrupted not by some Freudian slip of the tongue or misplaced sigh on his part, but Nancy's deceptively casual remark, as she was clearing the dishes from dinner.

 

"I'm sorry?" he replied, disbelieving his ears.

 

"I have to go out of town for a few days," she repeated, slowly, with a hint of exasperation in her voice. Ned stared at the back of her head, the magazine he'd been browsing forgotten on the table.

 

"Why?" His voice sounded dumb in his own ears.

 

"Work," she said. "A case. A job. It'll only be for a few days. You can survive off fast food and your mother's cooking for that long."

 

"And you're leaving when, tomorrow morning?"

 

"Tonight, actually."

 

He found himself speechless. Not because the words weren't there, but because there were too many, all of which, when he picked back through like a choose your own adventure ending, resulted in slammed doors and red-faced screaming.

 

"Oh," he trusted himself to say. Then, in a curiously calculated gesture, "I'll miss you."

 

For the first time since he'd come home that night he could actually feel her gaze on him, searching out his eyes. Her own were guarded. "Of course you will," she said lightly.

__

_It's started,_ he remembered her whispering.

__

_I can feel it_, he thought, and it trembled on his lips. _You're starting to slip away from me._

 

She turned away from him and continued loading the dishwasher. He gazed down at the dull magazine pages, unseeing.

 

\--

 

Mike and Jan O'Shea were the ones who pulled him out of the house, eventually. He had a feeling that if Nancy called and found he was out at a bar, she would chew him out in no uncertain terms, even though he hadn't been given the name of the hotel where she'd be staying or any flight information.

 

Assuming there had been a flight.

 

He shrugged off the feeling and tucked the phone into the pocket over his heart, all the better to feel it ring. Some of his friends from work showed up, and he played a game of pool with them, nursing his beer. Certain that at any minute he would need to be sober enough to hold a conversation with her, to leave if she so insisted. Something.

 

Samantha was there, again, hanging onto Joel's arm, laughing up into his eyes.

 

He felt a homesickness for his wife so fiercely that it startled him. He wanted Nancy to be there, laughing up into his eyes, all double meanings and black silk like she had been in Paris. But the whole reason it worked was because his associates hadn't seen her like that, hadn't really seen her at all. Only Mason had been there at the bar in Paris, and if he saw Nancy here tonight he'd hardly recognize her.

 

He wondered about the nights she came home late, the nights he came home still pleasantly buzzing to find her already asleep in their bed or waiting up for him, strained fear on her face. She didn't go out with him. She called it his time to hang out with his friends. All the better if they came over for poker nights, except the ones she didn't approve of, the ones who made the hairs rise on the back of her neck.

 

Nancy would never stand like Samantha was. Not before and not since. She wouldn't come out to the club in a thin strapped tank top and black leather miniskirt, dark nailpolish and practiced stare and the fluid grind of her body against his as they danced. Not the Nancy he was married to.

 

Especially not now.

 

Maybe once the baby was born. He counted off on his fingers, groaning. Four months.

 

A cheer rose from the other side of the bar. Ned looked over just in time to see Danielle throw another dart, hear the answering cries. She was smiling broadly, and for a second she looked in his direction. Their gazes locked, and he nodded his head at her, gave her a congratulatory smile.

 

She nodded back at him ever so slightly, her lips curling up.

 

Ned felt a hand on his and looked over, startled. Jan, her hair piled up on her head, a good natured grin on her face, beamed up at him. "Come dance," she said.

 

Mike was busy at the pool table. Ned shrugged, smiled down at his best friend's wife, and headed out to the floor with her.

 

\--

 

Danielle stamped crusted snow off her boots as she walked back into the lobby of the office building. The automatic doors swished shut behind her, and a compensatory blast of warm air ruffled her hair back from her wind-reddened face.

 

Sometimes she wondered why she stayed in Chicago.

 

She glanced around the lobby as she headed for the stairs. The security guard gave her a smile and waved her on.

 

Against the wall, next to a potted plant, sat the lone other occupant. A woman, about Danielle's age, dressed in an ice-blue sweater that didn't make any attempt to disguise the curve of her breast or round of her belly, black skirt, black leather boots that left only her knee peeking out. Her legs were crossed, a deep grey wool duster was folded neatly on the seat next to her, and her hair cascaded down her shoulders. Danielle thought she was just staring at her coat until she saw a cell phone blossom to silent light from its folds, and the woman's face lit up as she picked it up and manipulated the buttons.

 

Danielle summoned the elevator and stood waiting for it, rubbing her hands together briskly. The woman stood, and for a second grasped the edge of her chair, her other hand sliding down to rest on the front of her belly.

__

_Pregnant_, Danielle thought.

 

Only then did Danielle notice the rings on the woman's finger. She picked up her coat and tied it tightly around her, slipped the cell phone into her pocket, and stood with her arms crossed, gazing in the direction of the elevators. When she caught Danielle's eye for a second, she smiled, then returned to her vigil.

 

The chime startled Danielle, and she turned to see the doors sliding back smoothly, her reflection slid aside to show Ned standing alone in the car. Automatically she smiled.

 

But Ned had no answering smile for her. Already his gaze was beyond her, locked on the woman in the dark grey coat, who (Danielle didn't even need to look behind her to see, but she did anyway) was answering his smile with one of her own.

 

Ned's wife. Ned's pregnant wife.

 

The doors whispered shut, but not before Danielle saw Ned wrap his arms around the woman, her eyes closing in response.

 

Danielle closed her own eyes as the car slid upward.

__

_That should've been me._

 

\--

 

Ned woke that night, startled to consciousness from some loud noise in his dream. Danielle was taking her last drink of the night, halfway across Chicago; Nancy was on her side of his bed, one arm folded under her head, on her back but tilted toward him. Her face was smooth and lineless.

 

While he was staring at her she opened her eyes and gazed back at him.

 

Her eyes were dull with sleep, but she was aware of him, aware of the angles of his face in the dark. She blinked and he reached out for her, cupped her cheek in his palm, felt the smooth curve of her skin. Her lips curved up.

 

He felt like he could reach out and touch her, then. Like he could tell her about all the misunderstood gestures and his insecurities and the cool detachment he had obviously misinterpreted, and she would laugh, and they would be back in the warm comfort of that afternoon, listening to the wind whistle around the corners of the house while they held each other.

 

But he was silent, speechless. Nancy touched his hand and then climbed on top of him.

 

Her stomach was not so large as to constrict their activities, but he had heard of and understood her gradual desire to be in the dominant position over him. She had been, that afternoon, raking her hair back from her face, his hands resting on her hips but not leading them. With her gasping his name, he would never have believed her capable of being like this with someone else, with lying to him and spending the night in someone else's bed.

 

She made love to him again but he felt restless with the entire neighborhood asleep around them, and when he rested his hands against her hips it was with more force this time. When she stopped stifling her moans, his toes curled.

 

He rolled her over gently, onto her side of the bed, and she tilted her head back, golden hair spilled on the pillow. He buried his face against her neck, fingers curled around the back of her head, and when she gasped against his ear he closed his eyes, breath warm on her skin. She would never, she would never...

 

He lay next to her and she put her arms around him, recovering her breath, and he looped his arm over her, pressed his face close to hers. She was there, the old Nancy, as he remembered her, a soft laugh under her breath, her fingers twined in the hair at the back of his neck.

 

He sighed. "I love you," he murmured, and it had nothing to do with the sex they'd just had, five hours or five minutes before, everything to do with the safety he felt in her embrace.

 

"Love you too," she whispered, brushing a kiss against the corner of his mouth.

 

\--

 

She was gone the next morning.

 

Bodily, at least. She had been replaced while they slept twined around each other by her more short-tempered twin, and this version found a reasonable question about the dry-cleaning and its pickup to be an unforgivable breech of conduct on his part. He'd even offered to go pick it up himself, but his even suggesting that her job was so disposable that she could just go at his whim and do his bidding made her little better than his slave, because maybe what he wanted, she spat, venomous, was for her to stay home and be his slave all day. She already had dinner ready when he came home

 

(_assuming she was home_, he helpfully supplemented, his own mood growing dark)

 

and washed his clothes and kept the house clean, and even if their income didn't depend on any large way on her going to work every day

 

(it didn't depend at all on what she did, his salary already single-handedly could have covered the bills several times over)

 

it was important. She wasn't the one going out with her friends all the time. In fact, she was convinced that his friends didn't like her at all and would much rather have preferred her stay home, waiting for him, as his slave. Even if she did go, it wasn't like she could enjoy herself by having a couple, and was relegated to being the designated driver, a thankless task if ever there was one, chauffering around a bunch of nauseated frat boys.

 

He drove to work, a sour taste blooming in his mouth the entire way, shouting epithets at other drivers that he'd had to hold back from shouting at his wife.

 

By the time he was at his desk and able to think, he had begun to feel depressed. He wasn't entirely unfamiliar with it; he had spent a lot of time in this very office thinking about her, wondering what she was doing, while they had been apart. But even then it had been tempered with the hope that maybe he had it wrong, there had been some kind of misunderstanding, and everything was just temporarily out of balance. Which it had been.

 

But this depression...

 

He looked down at the ring on his left hand. He knew it was ridiculous to be feeling this way, as if the moodiness that accompanied her pregnancy was something he couldn't abide any longer. He was extremely responsible for her state. But even an argument about something so small (damn dry cleaning) would have been all right if he could just fight the suspicion that fluttered in the back of his mind. The suspicion that had seemed so entirely ludicrous the afternoon and night before.

 

He closed his eyes. It wasn't supposed to be like this. She was supposed to be flushed and happy and suffering from mild morning sickness and picking out little one-piece jumpers and teddy bears, not yelling at him when he even suggested that she might perhaps pick up the dry cleaning.

 

\--

 

When he came home after work, the

 

(_damndrycleaning_ was what he mentally called it now, all one bitter word)

 

looped over his shoulder in its plastic clinging slips, he was only slightly surprised to find the house still dark and cold. Nothing was obviously marinating or standing for dinner. He took the newly cleaned clothes upstairs and hung them up, railing at himself for not throwing them across the back of the couch and just waiting for her abuse to begin. He made himself half a sandwich, ears pricked and waiting to hear her walk through the front door, angry that he hadn't waited for dinner. A game show had started on television and he watched it, preoccupied by the inevitable diatribe on how he didn't want to eat with her and hated her cooking, or some other entirely unwarranted rant on his eating a sandwich.

 

The phone rang. Well, at least if she started yelling he could hold it away from his ear. He sighed and answered it.

 

"Hey man, you still up for the game on Sunday?"

 

"Sure," Ned replied, his blood pressure falling, his mood brightening considerably. "How's it going?"

 

Mike shrugged, and Ned could feel it. "Not bad," he said. "We're about to sit down to dinner, if you want to come over."

 

Nancy's invitation was implied, but Ned didn't really care. "I'll be over in a minute," he said.

 

Mike chuckled under his breath. "Problems?"

 

"Nah. She's not even home yet."

 

After dinner his cell phone was still silent and their house was still dark. Ned and Mike sat down on the living room couch, watching sports recaps and drinking beers.

 

"Did Jan go insane once she got pregnant?" Ned asked.

 

Mike and Jan had a pair of five-year-old twin boys. Mike looked over at them for a moment.

 

"A little," he admitted. "She wanted weird food all the time, she'd cry at the drop of a hat, yell at me for no reason..."

 

"So it's normal."

 

Mike shrugged. "She calmed down once the kids were born. Why, is Nancy wanting pistachio ice cream in the middle of the night?"

 

Ned took a swig of his beer. "One minute she's all over me and the next I'm the worst thing that's ever happened to her."

 

Mike's lips tightened slightly but that was the only negative response he made. He replied with something to the effect that Ned's experience wasn't at all abnormal, and to expect more of the same.

 

But the implication was there and Ned could feel it. Mike hadn't said a bad word about Nancy since the day he'd told his old friend that he was seeing his high school sweetheart again, but Ned's recall of Mike's reaction to her leaving was crystal clear. Mike had set Ned up on dates, double-dated with him, encouraged him to get out and have fun and let Nancy be history, since that's what she had obviously wanted to be.

 

He didn't think about it, too much, not normally. He didn't let himself start to consider it. But he cracked another beer and watched Mike's face when he saw Jan, and he thought about it again.

 

She had known where he was. She was a private detective, for God's sake, if she'd wanted to find him she could have. And she hadn't, she'd left him to run into her by chance on a business trip. What if he hadn't gone, what if she hadn't been there in that restaurant, what if he'd never...

 

Because their entire life together, now, depended on a set of chance events, and he knew what Mike would never voice: he had been a fool to take Nancy back.

 

Especially with her sudden business trip, and (he glanced out the window to confirm) her inexplicable time between work and home where she seemed to fall off the face of the earth and have every cheerful excuse available later.

 

His hands were shaking.

 

\--

 

If she had any luck at all Ned would be asleep. His car was in the driveway but the house itself was dark.

 

She was so, so very quiet as she walked up to the front door, quiet as a housebreaker, as she tossed her coat over the couch, stepped out of her shoes on the carpet, made her way in bare feet up the stairs. She held a palm against the frame of the door as she turned the doorknob of their bedroom by degrees, her breath shallow and noiseless, and then eased the door open.

 

The bed was still made, and Ned wasn't in it.

 

\--

 

A faint buzzing headache, infuriated by the fluorescent lights, was the only physical remainder of the night before. Ned ran a hand over his face as he yawned, watching the elevator chime off the floors as they passed.

 

He had slept alone.

 

He might have been drunk when he finally realized that his wife's car was in the driveway, but the anger he'd felt at that sight wouldn't be denied by such details. He'd made his way across the road, fueled by a strong desire to grab her and shake her by the arms until she apologized. For anything and everything and whatever he happened to mention.

 

They struck him at the same time, the jarring vision of their kitchen as a lit rectangle when he had expected the house to be dark, and her voice, or rather the low flirtatious giggle. And not directed at him.

 

When he demanded to know who she'd been talking to before she abruptly hung up the phone and faced him, it didn't go like he'd planned. Not at all. She asked where he'd been, he asked where she'd been, if she'd been with the voice on the other side of the line, she'd sniffed at him accusingly and said he was an alcoholic and in his rage he had looked around for something, anything, to throw, to break, to crash on the floor, and realized the thing he most wanted to do that to was her.

 

"Hi."

 

Danielle was in a black cashmere sweater and grey pants today, but his eyes were drawn to her lips, a vivid dash of color on her face. She looked faintly amused, but not condescendingly. He didn't think he could have dealt with that, just then.

 

"Hi," he replied.

 

\--

 

Ned stopped talking to Mike about it, eventually. He didn't stop thinking about it and he seethed when Nancy wasn't home, when she made some light excuse that became defensive when he pressed it.

 

He sensed Danielle's eyes on him often.

 

On weeks when Nancy's mood swings were intolerable, sometimes he'd return her gaze.

 

They agreed, finally, to keep both their frivilous sports cars, and buy a fully loaded minivan with leather seats and a DVD player. Midori came to visit her little sister, and when Mari gave birth she named her daughter Hana. Hana with her jet-black hair and startling green eyes.

 

When Nancy gave birth a month and a half later, she named her first child Helene. Dark brown hair, sapphire blue eyes. She called them her Irish twins.

 

And for that time, when the babies arrived, he thought maybe the temporary insanity that had marred her pregnancy for him, was over.


	9. Chapter 9

Ned couldn't even remember the last time he'd seen Nancy's lingerie. He looked away, then looked back, but the deep red silk babydoll remained. Spread invitingly on her side of the bed.

 

He closed the bedroom door, smiling a little to himself.

 

Along with the moratorium on lingerie and all related activities had come the one on poker nights. She was moody, miserable, far past the point of drinking, and had little use for any excuse to see his friends. Her friends, meanwhile, gathered around the kitchen table playing cards, that was fine, and to be honest he didn't mind it, but when it came to her double standard...

 

He couldn't go out, she would be worried, and worrying was bad for the baby.

 

If they stayed in he practically had to bribe her to touch him, she was so standoffish. And always exhausted. Probably because of the degree to which she was working out. No one would have known she'd given birth six weeks before. The exaggerated curves of her frame had faded, save her overswelled breasts (and that, he could admit, he had no desire to watch diminish), and a slight softness about her hips.

 

Not that he had cared. Until about a week before she went into labor, when simply being awake was miserable for her, if she'd asked he would have given in. Even an interested glance in his direction would have been enough. Pillows or the bathtub or the floor, upside-down in her garden, he would have been there with bells on. But her damn "The doctor said six weeks," he could have sworn she'd bribed April to say that, if he hadn't looked it up and found out it was true.

 

It had been almost three months.

 

Somehow, it was worse, now, worse than it had been just after they had been married and she had left him and snatched away any prospect, any possibility, any hope he had of getting laid. She was it, she was all he had wanted, no one else could compete with that, not even if he were drunk. In fact then it was worse, because he found himself unable to shut up about her, and the girls quickly tired of him and found guys with less baggage, or at least less willingness to talk about it.

 

Nancy was downstairs, dressed in white, hair falling in lightly curved strands past her shoulders. Wearing eye makeup. That was what had been bothering him earlier. Lined in black, framed with mascara, standing out above her relatively paler lips and cheeks. She was charming. The babies were downstairs. The guys, for the most part, gave them a cursory glance, gave him a slap on the back and congratulations, while the woman cooed and gleamed over them.

 

Bess slipped inside, with Nate. "Sorry I'm late," she said, Madison in her arms, Stephanie at her side. "Upstairs?"

 

Ned nodded gratefully. "We've got everything set up. Go ahead and get a plate, I can watch them for a few minutes." He extended his arms and Madison, after a moment of intense deliberation, allowed herself to be transferred.

 

Stephanie looked over the nursery, nodded to herself at seeing the television set up in the corner, then gestured to the backpack hanging by a strap in her grasp. "I brought books," she said, invitingly.

 

"Cool," Ned replied, noncommittally.

 

"Want me to read?"

 

"That would be fantastic," he replied, as Madison attacked a brightly colored activity board and reacted to its chirping greeting.

 

"Are the babies in here?" Stephanie started looking around.

 

"They'll be here in a minute," Ned replied.

 

Bess opened the door and peered inside, Nate at her elbow with a drink. She took a bite of cracker, then handed one to Stephanie upon her insistent grasping. "If George gets here she promised she'll trade off with me, so catch her if you see her, okay?" Bess told Ned.

 

"That's fine," he replied. "Nate?"

 

Nate hooked a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the study and its game console. "In there?"

 

"It's downstairs, actually," Ned replied. "We can go down and set it up, if Bess...?"

 

"I'm fine," Bess said, waving them off. "You'll probably want to bring the babies up here soon, though."

 

"All right." Ned nodded. "Thanks again."

 

The babies were blissed out in their bassinet, but when Ellison came in complaining of a summer cold, Ned took them into his arms and deposited them in the nursery with Bess, who was patiently listening to Stephanie read aloud. Stephanie sounded surprisingly like her older counterparts, cooing at the babies, watching for any movement.

 

"Remember when Maddy was this little?" Bess asked.

 

Stephanie looked up. "Kind of," she said.

 

Ned excused himself and was back downstairs, talking to Nancy, her hand resting on his shirt, and he was about to lean in to make some comment about the nightgown on their bed when the door opened, again. He barely heard it over the din, but he saw Nancy's eyes light up, and he followed her gaze.

 

Michael Delgado waved his greeting and closed the door behind him.

 

Ned had already seen Stone and Ellison, so he didn't know why the sight of Delgado was making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Nancy's hand was still against his chest, but for all her lack of attention it, and she, might as well have been on the moon.

 

Just behind him was Danielle.

 

Ned watched carefully to see if the two made any sort of tip-off, as though they had met or talked on the way in, but they separated as soon as they had passed through the initial crush of people. He reached down and touched Nancy's cheek, and when she turned to him questioningly, their gazes caught and held.

 

"Hey," he said.

 

"Hey," she smiled back.

 

"You want some champagne?"

 

"I wish," she replied, sighing. "Sparkling grape juice, garcon."

 

Ned bowed to her and made his way to the kitchen.

 

When he found her again, she was sitting in the circle of poker players, her diamond gleaming from her finger, and could not have looked more beautiful. She was reminding him of the way things had been before, before they had started arguing so much, before he'd been such an idiot and invited Danielle out for lunch that day he'd been so angry with Nancy. Danielle kept casting him glances from across the room, ones he was afraid his all too observant wife was going to pick up on. He'd have to take Danielle aside sometime soon, tell her that he'd made a mistake, that things were never going to develop between them.

 

Ned noticed that Michael was sitting across the table from Nancy.

 

Jan, with her hand still resting in her husband's, leaned down and murmured something to Nancy. Ned had seen the two of them go upstairs, and from Nancy's expression, Ned knew Jan was probably talking about the babies. Mike caught Ned's eye from across the table and nodded slightly in the direction of the living room, asking if Ned wanted to come play, since Nate was already installed on the couch and there were no open spots at the poker table.

 

Ned cast one last glance back. Nancy was laughing at something Jeff Stone was saying, and he thought again about making some excuse, taking her upstairs, not even bothering with the nightie. But having an evening with all their friends like this, it had been so long...

 

He followed Mike into the living room.

 

Bess, in the meantime, was peering from the upstairs balcony, trying to find her cousin. George had just finished cramming her coat into the closet and was fluffing out her short brown hair when Bess hissed down at her.

 

George looked up.

 

"Come up here!" Bess mouthed, beckoning her.

 

After casting a glance around, George followed her cousin up the stairs, to where she could see Bess peeking out of the nursery. "Come on, I just need to go get some drinks," she said, once George was within earshot. "Stephanie's been demanding juice every two seconds."

 

"Okay," George said, walking inside. Stephanie brightened when she saw her aunt. "You'll be right back, right? No stopping for a hand of poker or anything?"

 

"Sure, fine," Bess said hastily, her eyes gleaming. "I'll run the whole way."

 

George snickered. "Fat chance."

 

The kitchen was relatively deserted, when Bess reached it. Relatively. Someone was keeping the snack trays well stocked, and the replenishments were out on the countertop. Bess snatched a carrot stick, then poked her head into the refrigerator, trying to find some unspiked juice.

 

She heard a laugh, and backed off very slowly, until she could just see around the side of the door.

 

A woman in white, standing against the counter, manicured hand around a glass of dark purple drink, laughing. Nancy. With a tan hand against the small of her back, and someone leaning in close to her, someone who wasn't Ned.

 

Bess took a slow, measured breath, then let the refrigerator door close silently. Michael, she recognized him now, that guy from Nancy's work, had his head bent close to hers, and was murmuring something. Nancy, looking flushed and happy, was listening intently.

 

Bess, still feeling a little bit in shock, walked out of the kitchen and immediately saw Ned, sitting on the couch between her husband and his best friend. She blinked, swiftly, trying to clear the image, and heard one of the girls she knew vaguely ask if she wanted to join for a hand.

 

"Sure," she said, blankly, and dropped into a chair.

 

The girl frowned. "Nancy said she'd be back before the hand was over."

 

During the progression of the hand Bess told herself sternly that whatever she had seen, she had misinterpreted. They worked together

__

_but she hasn't been at work for eight weeks_

 

and of course they were close, she had been training him to work in her team, and...

 

She turned off the insistent voice in her head and directed her attention back to the game.

 

Once the hand was over she went upstairs and relieved her cousin, still a little distracted, but Stephanie was enough distraction in herself.

 

Danielle watched Michael leave the table, once Bess had gone back upstairs. She caught the glance Michael directed at Nancy, the look she gave him in return, and settled back, arms crossed, drink nestled in her hand, to watch. Ned was ignoring her, and she was feeling just a little pissed.

 

Michael went upstairs. Nancy played out the rest of her hand, and then gave her spot at the table to George. Mike, the cute guy who was awfully close to Ned and walked around with a cane, took the spot Michael had vacated.

 

Danielle watched Nancy head for the stairs, a half smile on the latter's face.

 

Danielle put her drink down and stood. No one else was watching. Ned and Nate were watching the television very, very intently.

 

She waited half a beat, and followed them upstairs.

 

George had been watching, mostly because she had seen the way Danielle had been studying Ned earlier, and was seeing in her head a repeat of the whole Denise Mason incident. Nancy had probably just gone upstairs to check on the children, anyway. She tried to put it out of her head.

 

And then, at the edge of her vision, she saw Danielle descend a few stairs, stop, her hand raised slightly, her manner thoughtful. She kept looking at Ned. Neither Nancy nor Michael came down after her. Danielle took a few more stairs, then stopped again.

 

"George, your turn."

 

George tossed a few chips into the middle without even bothering to check their color, her gaze still centered on Danielle. Danielle strode across the room to her purse, which she'd left half-hidden, and brushed it with her hand so that it tumbled into the shadowed space behind the entertainment center. Ned was utterly oblivious. Or, at least, he was, until Danielle approached him, her manner simpering.

 

Mike showed his hand and the entire table crowed with him, save George, whose attention was still on Danielle. Danielle and Ned, whose heads were close together.

 

"Not leaving so soon, are you?" George read off Ned's smiling lips.

 

George put her hand face-down and it was whisked out from under her fingers, returned to the dealer. She pushed her chair back, quietly, as Danielle straightened, as Nate stretched, as Ned stood and walked with Danielle to the foot of the stairs.

 

Ned and Danielle didn't see George as she followed them up, as she stopped at the door to the nursery while they kept walking down the hall, past the master bedroom. George opened the door, and Bess looked up, from playing some nonsense card game with Stephanie.

 

"Nancy's not in here?" George asked.

 

Bess glanced around, as though Nancy could have entered without her knowledge. "No," Bess replied. "Isn't she still downstairs?"

 

George stepped back, out of the lit threshold, turned her head to the left. Danielle was standing close to Ned, her hand on his elbow, and while he wasn't shaking it off, he didn't seem to be encouraging it, either.

 

the _bitch_

 

George caught herself and heard the faint noise of Bess walking toward her, over the carpet. "What's wrong?"

 

George didn't answer her cousin, but moved toward Ned and Danielle, intending, if anything, to make Ned remember who he was, and that there were people around, people loyal to his wife before him who wouldn't be happy to see him with Danielle. Bess made some murmured command to Stephanie and closed the door behind her, following George down the hall.

 

Ned opened the door.

 

George, misunderstanding the movement, rushed forward. But Ned didn't escort Danielle inside, ingratiating smile on his face; instead he recoiled, and George caught the faintest hint of a pleased expression on Danielle's face.

 

George, and Bess just behind her, turned.

 

Bess gasped. "Oh, my God."

 

\--

 

Nancy woke the next morning feeling like hell. Pure alcohol-soaked hell. Unless Ned had traded up on the grape juice... Without opening her eyes, she felt for her left ring finger, and found the reassuring weight of her engagement and wedding rings. She was on her back, on the wrong side of the bed, on Ned's side. Her eyes opened and the sunlight coming through the lightly curtained window was damnably bright.

 

Guest bedroom.

 

No. Can't be right.

 

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, and once the light was shut out she just wanted to sleep again, to go somewhere where the deceptively muted pounding in her head would not finish its approach and cripple her. This was shaping up to be an old, familiar, fraternity-level hangover, the kind that spoiled the entire day and made the thought of eating a quease-inducing memory.

__

_but i didn't drink anything_

 

Her outflung arm touched no skin, no other occupant of the bed. She turned her head, cringing all the way, and gazed at the papasan chair beside the bed. The accumulation of overcute throw pillows had been placed in a somewhat organized pile just beneath, and George was curled inside, uncomfortably, the shallow angle of the chair giving her full exposure to the sunlight streaming through the curtains. She was blinking herself awake, but when she focused on Nancy, George didn't answer her smile with the same.

 

"Didn't expect you to be here," Nancy said thickly.

 

George put her stockinged feet on the floor, as though she needed to brace herself. Maybe to go downstairs for some coffee; Nancy felt entirely uncapable.

 

George had locked the door behind the last guest and fallen asleep just as the sun came up to end her nightlong vigil. And now that Nancy was awake, George felt utterly speechless.

 

"Michael's gone," she tried.

 

Nancy raised a hand to her pounding head. "Of course he is," she replied. "Unless you two hooked up last night and didn't tell me." She managed a faint smile.

 

George tried to process that answer, but found herself unable. She was exhausted, her nerves were on edge, and there was no charitable way to say it, not if Nancy was going to play it this way.

 

"Ned's gone."

 

\--

 

Thirty minutes later Nancy was standing on Bess's front porch. She glanced around as she waited for someone to answer her knock, a hoodie half-hanging from her shoulder, car keys jangling in her nervous fist. The skin just below her eyes was dark with exhaustion, and she couldn't keep her gaze centered on any one thing for very long. A glider creaked gently in the breeze at the edge of the porch, the day was crisp and bright, and the inexplicable hangover Nancy was feeling came back full force, and with the pain came the clear-headedness that made everything George had told her seem like a nightmare. Had to be. Even though she'd searched every corner of their house. Ned was gone, the car was gone, the children were gone.

 

Nate answered the door. Nancy's sneakers squeaked softly against the porch as she shifted her weight. She was jittery, so easily startled that her skin felt inches thinner.

 

"Is Bess here?"

 

Nate nodded, his eyes guarded, and stepped back so Nancy could come in. She gave him a half watery smile and stood, restless, in the living room as Nate called for Bess.

 

The scowl on Bess's face faded as she saw Nancy. "You might want to go grab your daughter," she told Nate, then turned her attention back to Nancy. Nancy watched impatiently for Nate to leave before she spoke.

 

"What happened last night?"

 

"You know what happened," Bess replied, cautiously.

 

"Pretend I don't," Nancy replied, an edge in her voice. She shook her head sharply and looked at Bess.

 

"Sit down," Bess replied. "You're making me nervous."

 

Nancy emitted a harsh laugh at that, but obeyed. "What happened."

 

Bess seated herself in a dark green recliner and looked down at her hands. "You were in bed with Michael."

 

"Which bed?"

 

"The guest bed."

 

"In bed with him," Nancy repeated woodenly.

 

"Naked and under the covers and everything."

 

"I was naked?" Nancy repeated.

 

"From what I could see of you, yeah," Bess replied, shifting uncomfortably. "You at least had your shirt off."

 

"And bra?"

 

Bess nodded again. "But Nan, I promise--"

 

"And him?"

 

"Shirt off," Bess replied. "I only saw it for a second."

 

"Who else was there?"

 

"George and Ned and some blond girl. I don't remember her name."

 

"Light purple t-shirt and glitter jeans," Nancy replied dully.

 

"Yeah, that's what she was wearing."

 

Nancy rubbed her forehead. "Danielle."

 

"Could be."

 

Nancy didn't look at Bess. "Why did you go to that room? Were we making noise or something?"

 

"No," Bess replied. "George came to the door of the nursery, and I wondered what was going on, so I followed her out and Ned was walking down the hall with Danielle, and I didn't know whether he was-- well, I don't know," she said.

 

"Whether they were sneaking off together."

 

"Something like that," Bess replied. "And then he opened the door, and there you were."

 

"Lights on or off?"

 

"Off," Bess said.

 

"Did I say anything when Ned opened the door?"

 

"Don't you know?" Bess replied, looking at Nancy strangely. "You didn't say anything. You looked kinda out of it, like you'd had a few."

 

Nancy rubbed her forehead. "I'm nursing. I didn't have anything to drink last night, but I feel hungover as hell. After that what happened?"

 

"Ned got all quiet. That girl, Danielle, whatever, looked pleased. He went to your bedroom, and I went back to look after the kids. After a little while he came by and took them, and George volunteered to watch Stephanie and Madison for me for a while so I could go downstairs and grab a snack or something."

 

"And find out what everyone else was saying."

 

Bess nodded, looking embarrassed. "Ned was gone. I think Mike went with him."

 

"So he could be over at Mike's." Nancy clenched her car keys in her palm and stood.

 

Bess stood as well. "Why were you asking me all those questions?"

 

"Because I don't remember what happened last night," Nancy replied. "I gotta go."

 

Bess followed Nancy to the door, and when she reached it Nancy stopped and turned to look Bess straight in the eye. "You're not lying about this, are you?"

 

"I wish I was," Bess replied. "I wish to God I was. You didn't tell me you were seeing him."

 

"I wasn't," Nancy said. "I hadn't seen him since I went on maternity leave from work. It's been months."

 

"It's just--"

 

"What?" Nancy demanded, as Bess hesitated.

 

"You were having problems with Ned, and... I don't know, I just didn't think you'd do something like this."

 

"I didn't," Nancy said.

 

"But I saw it," Bess replied.

 

\--

 

"Go to hell," Jan O'Shea said by way of greeting.

 

Nancy, fighting the tiredness and the pounding in her head, the sinking feeling that was growing in her chest, tried to peer around Jan. Ned's car wasn't in the driveway, but it could be in the garage, or somewhere else. Jan's outstretched arm prevented Nancy's further entry, and her dark eyes were flashing.

 

"Is Ned here?" Nancy asked.

 

Jan replied with a stony silence.

 

"Just tell me if he's here," Nancy said, and with every word she felt a bit more energy drain away. "I just need to talk to him. There's been some terrible misunderstanding."

 

Jan shook her head. "If you come back here I'm calling the cops."

 

She slammed the door, and Nancy closed her eyes for a second. Willing it to open again, willing Ned to be standing there, some amount of openness in his eyes, something she could work with.

 

But he didn't appear, and Nancy, afraid to test Jan's resolve, turned around and left, her head bowed.

 

\--

 

Tracy, her light brown hair curled and in a high ponytail, was wearing a lifejacket as she walked into the restaurant. Nancy sat at a table, her palms wrapped around a mug of coffee, and when she saw Tracy she couldn't even manage to crack a smile.

 

Tracy slid breathlessly into the chair across from Nancy's, a few damp tendrils clinging to her temples, and said "Okay?"

 

Nancy continued to meditate on her coffee for a few more minutes, until she took a deep breath and found the strength within her to utter the words. "I need you to do a job for me," she said. "It needs to be you and only you, and if you absolutely have to, find someone you can trust to help."

 

"Simon," Tracy responded immediately. "He's good and he's discreet."

 

Nancy nodded, then looked into Tracy's hazel eyes for the first time during their meeting. "I think he'd be good, too. You're doing an excellent job."

 

Tracy just nodded, her eyes steady on Nancy's.

 

"I need you to find my husband," Nancy said. "And you're going to have to be careful, because he's worked with me before, and he knows the usual tricks. And I think he knows you but I'm pretty sure he doesn't know Simon."

 

Tracy just nodded. She had her notebook open at the edge of the table, a pen in her hand. Nancy hadn't even seen her produce it.

 

Nancy sighed. "You know what he looks like," she said. "Six-three, muscular build, dark hair and eyes, carries himself like an athlete. He's somewhere in the area. He may be staying with Mike O'Shea, who lives across the street and five doors down from me. I doubt it, though. He drives a silver late-model Jaguar."

 

Tracy took down Mike's address and the license tag of the car, then waited.

 

Nancy rubbed a hand over her face. "I want surveillance on him, once you locate him," Nancy said. "Nothing obtrusive. I want to know who goes to see him and how long she-- or he, stays," she said, and sighed. "Verbal reports, to me. You can reach me on my cell."

 

Tracy put the pen back in her pocket, flipped the notebook shut. "Starting now."

 

"Starting now," Nancy affirmed.

 

"Do you have a description of the woman you think might be with him?"

 

Nancy looked at Tracy directly again, trying to keep her gaze steady, but failed. "Five-five, blonde, green eyes, medium build. Danielle. I don't know her license number, what car she'll be driving, anything, but..."

 

Tracy nodded. "Okay," she said.

 

"I'll check in with you," Nancy said. "And thanks."

 

Tracy noded again, briskly. "Anytime," she said, then stood, the blue lifejacket still damp.

 

\--

 

Bess didn't have Hannah Gruen's number. But Nancy did. And while Nancy was preoccupied, Bess found her cell, committed Hannah's number to memory, and returned it to her purse.

 

"We're worried about Nancy," Bess began.

 

"Is something wrong with the babies?"

 

Hannah listened to Bess's story, incredulous. She'd been there from the beginning, had been there the first time Bess and George had been invited over to their best friend's house, had shared Nancy's secrets, bandaged her scraped knees and packed her school lunches and learned Ned's favorite recipes for when he came over, in the time before, before they had changed and Nancy had left Ned and finally gone off for post-secondary education. She'd been the one to take Ned's desperate phone calls and lie for Nancy, believing and being proven right, in the end, that whatever they were going through was only temporary, that she would come to her senses and he would take her back as he always had.

 

She'd never thought anything like this would happen.

 

"She's a wreck," Bess said. "And Nancy can't remember what happened but I was there, and if I'd caught my husband in that situation, well, I wouldn't have stopped to ask questions either. It's been a few days and he hasn't come back. Nancy isn't eating. I doubt if she's sleeping. She doesn't want to leave the house in case he comes back. And she believes he will come back, that this is just a little fight, but..."

 

"You don't think so," Hannah finished for her.

 

Bess was quiet for a moment. "I've never seen the two of them like this," she replied. "And if you could just come up and maybe stay with her a few days, I know you might be busy or in the middle of something--"

 

"I can manage it," Hannah replied. "I'm glad you called."

 

\--

 

The doorbell rang.

 

Nancy hadn't made herself anywhere near presentable. Since waking she'd subjected herself to an hour of working out, and now she had the stereo loud enough to be heard in the downstairs bathroom, where she was cleaning like a madwoman. Down on her hands and knees, smelling of bleach, dusting corners that had never seen the light of the fluorescent bulbs over the sink.

 

She stood. Black t-shirt streaked with bleach, faded jeans with the knees thin and stretched, a bandanna holding her hair away from her flushed and unwashed face. She dusted off her knees, shrugged, and made a run for the door.

 

The greeting she was about to make died on her upturned lips as she stood, right hand still resting on the edge of the door, lips slightly parted, and took in the man standing there.

 

Sandy blond hair, blue eyes, dark suit. Understated tie done in maroon and gold. Shined shoes. Muted gleaming black leather briefcase in his left hand. Gold tie tack.

 

Gold tie tack with the insignia of Ned's fraternity on it.

 

He was far from jovial, and his perfunctory smile upon her having opened the door faded. His eyes glinted.

 

"Miss Drew?"

 

"Mrs. Nickerson," she replied.

 

He stood expectantly, waiting for her to step back and allow him entrance, but her legs were slow to respond. Nothing cordial would make its way from her brain to her lips. Finally she summoned up enough strength to retreat and let him step over the doorway, and as he gained admission she felt as though some small battle had been lost.

 

"My name is Paul," he said, her eyes having traced his path from the front door to a spot near her end table, neutral lampshade, overstuffed couch cushion. "Paul Morris. I'm Mr. Nickerson's attorney."

 

Nancy licked her lips. No sound would emerge. Fear rose in her, quickly, but she forced it back. "Ned's attorney."

 

Paul nodded. After holding her blue eyes with his for a moment, he moved the few steps to the couch, sat down, placed the briefcase flat across his knees, snapped open the locks. "If you'd prefer, we could do this here, or meet at a later time in my office."

 

Nancy looked down at her clothes, unseeing. "I'm going to call my lawyer and change clothes," she said, her voice holding a confidence she couldn't feel. "Do you-- would you care for a drink?" she asked, mechanically.

 

He shook his head. "I'll wait."

 

She took the stairs with careful, measured tread, until she was out of his sight; she couldn't feel the carpet under her toes, couldn't feel anything. Her head started to throb. Once the bedroom door was closed she yanked her shirt over her head and tossed it to the floor, then crossed the room swiftly and picked up the telephone.

 

"This is Carson Drew," her father said, his voice strong and assured. Upon hearing it Nancy blinked, then swallowed a few times, suddenly speechless. "Hello?"

 

"Dad," she said, then cleared her throat and repeated herself more normally. "Dad, I need you here now."

 

"What's wrong?"

 

"There's a lawyer downstairs," she said. "A guy who--"

 

"What's his name?"

 

"Paul Morris," Nancy said, putting a hand to her forehead. "This isn't-- are you in the middle of anything?"

 

"I'll be there in twenty minutes," Carson said. "You don't need to say anything until I get there."

 

"Thanks," she said. She replaced the receiver, then stepped out of her jeans and stood in the doorway of the

__

_their_

 

closet.

__

_what does one wear to talk to a husband's attorney?_

 

She took a breath, slow and measured, then took the bandanna off and tied her hair back more securely. She took a quick, thorough shower, stepped into some khakis, found a button-down shirt, put on a light shade of lipstick. She had just stepped into some sandals when she heard the doorbell ring again.

 

Her father was standing there. Carson gave her a reassuring smile and stepped inside, then looked over Morris, who was still seated on Nancy's couch. Morris leapt to his feet and walked toward Carson, his hand outstretched.

 

"It's an honor to meet you, sir. I just wish it had been under different circumstances."

 

"As do I."

 

Paul shook Nancy's hand then, and the three of them sat down.

 

"Will Ned be joining us?" Carson asked, echoing Nancy's thoughts.

 

Paul shook his head, then looked straight at Nancy. "Mr. Nickerson does not wish to be present at this meeting or any others we may have, but he has communicated his wishes to me, and that's what I'm here to talk to you about.

 

"Ned does not want to talk to you at any time. Any messages you wish to give him, contact me and I will tell him. Any arrangement about child care or the like, will probably be handled through his parents, but if it's an emergency you can contact me and I'll let him know."

 

"Those sound like custody arrangements." Carson looked grave.

 

"Of course," Paul replied, sounding mildly surprised. "Mr. Nickerson is suing for divorce and at least partial custody of the children."

 

Nancy stopped breathing.

__

_oh my God, no_

 

She felt utterly numb. This was a terrible joke. Terrible. Any minute he'd walk through that door, smiling, apologizing. But this wasn't like him at all, he wouldn't do this to her, he wouldn't joke about this, he wouldn't, he wouldn't.

 

"So he has established a separate residence?"

 

Nancy nodded, without thinking; Paul, catching the movement, echoed it, his eyes still on her. "He is in the process of establishing a separate residence," he replied to Carson's question. "This house and its contents can remain in the possession of Miss Drew--"

 

"Mrs. Nickerson," Nancy said, her voice hard.

 

Paul nodded, but did not repeat her. "Any of the communal possessions you want to return to Mr. Nickerson, can be done through me or his parents."

 

"So that's it?" Nancy said, her voice barely audible.

 

Carson reached over and took her hand, and she accepted it, barely feeling the warmth against her palm.

 

"Does Mr. Nickerson plan to name any correspondents in his suit?" Carson asked.

 

Paul looked down at the notes in his hand. "Michael Delgado."

 

Nancy lifted the hand not in her father's grasp to her forehead and held it there, willing the sobs she could feel rising in her chest to stay until she was alone.

 

"But he is staying in the area, to reduce undue hardship on the children?"

 

Paul nodded. "He will stay in the area, and take the children on the weekends. Through his parents. Any problems in that arrangement..."

 

"Contact you," Carson finished.

 

Paul fell silent for a moment, looking back and forth between Nancy and her father. "This can all be over with in a month, if you don't contest it," he said. "Done and finished. I believe Ned to be exceedingly generous in what he's offering, taking into consideration that he has witnesses to your infidelity--"

 

"I didn't," Nancy said, her voice low and hard, keeping her tears in check with extreme effort. "I didn't do it. I didn't. You can tell him that. Tell him that for me if you're his damn mouthpiece, if you're the one who has advised him not to pick up his phone when I call--"

 

"He did that on his own," Paul advised coldly. "He doesn't want to talk to you, and I can't see that I blame him for that."

 

"I need to explain."

 

"There's nothing to explain," Paul said. "There are no excuses you can make. And crying's not going to do you a damn bit of good," he went on, as the first tear slid down Nancy's cheek. "He and I go way back. And I'd love to rip you to pieces on the stand and make sure you never see your children again."

 

Carson stood. "This interview's over."

 

Nancy's limbs were wooden as Carson closed the door behind Paul. Her father came over to her and put an arm around her shoulders, and as he did, the dam burst. She lowered her head to her knees and cried in great gasping, heaving sobs that left no room for breath or comfort.

 

\--

 

Carson didn't know what to do, so he just held her. Something ticked quietly in the stillness of the house.

 

Finally Nancy pushed her hair back and met his eyes. "We're going to fight this," she said, but there was a faint question in her voice, as though she feared he would tell her that fighting it would be useless.

 

"I'll fight them," he agreed, and she put her head back on his shoulder again, turning the fabric dark with her tears.

 

His cell phone started ringing after that. She moved away from him and dashed the incessant moisture on her shirt collar as he spoke to someone in hushed, professional tones. After he ended the call he placed one to his office, and when Nancy heard him tell his secretary that he'd be out the rest of the day, she began protesting with a reminder of his engagements and Nancy shook her head.

 

"Go," she told him, and he held his hand over the mouthpiece and gazed at her. "Go, I'll be okay."

 

"You're not okay," he told her quietly.

 

"I'll call Bess or George or someone."

 

He still looked reluctant, but she stood. "Do it while I'm here," he replied, grudgingly. "I don't feel good about leaving you alone."

 

"I won't be alone."

 

Once he'd left, after she had made a finger-crossed promise to call George on her lunch break, Nancy curled up into herself and began to cry in earnest. She didn't want to see anyone. She wanted Ned to walk up to the door and tell her it had all been some terrible mistake and he was sorry, and he was coming back, and...

 

The doorbell rang, again.

 

The initial adrenaline rush died as she raised her damp eyes to the door. Not unless she and her father had both hallucinated a lawyer she'd never seen before. There was no chance.

 

But she couldn't stop her heart from racing just the slightest bit as she tried to smear the tears from her cheeks. Maybe the lawyer had been lying, maybe Ned had changed his mind, maybe...

 

Hannah Gruen stood at the door. She opened her arms to Nancy and Nancy fell into them, gratefully.

 

"You're here?" she asked. "And... who?" A girl of about twelve stood on the porch next to Hannah, her long brown hair tied back into a ponytail, looking up at Nancy's reddened face curiously. Nancy pulled back.

 

"This is my grand-niece, Amy," Hannah replied. "We're just spending some time together before school starts. Amy, this is Nancy."

 

Amy shook hands gravely.

 

"I bet you haven't eaten yet," Hannah said, looking Nancy shrewdly.

 

\--

 

Amy was content enough, once introduced to the ancient game console Nancy had used while still living with her father and Hannah. Hannah and Nancy sat in the kitchen, Nancy at the bar with her hands curved around a glass. Nancy had told Hannah all about it once Amy was out of earshot, and Hannah had listened as though she had not heard any of it before.

 

"Did Dad call you?" Nancy took a sip of her drink.

 

Hannah shook her head. "Bess did," she replied. "Yesterday."

 

Hannah was taking Amy on a sort of road trip while her parents... well, Hannah wasn't quite sure what her parents were doing, whether they were in the process of reconciling, or going through a bad patch, or maybe just taking a couple of weeks in Europe. She had installed the girl in her brushed chrome trailer and had taken her to the beach for a little while. Amy had never seen Chicago before.

 

Nancy became aware of Hannah's stare and endured it for a little while before she looked up and returned it.

 

"You want him back." It wasn't a question.

 

Nancy nodded. "I'm going to fight him for this," she said.

 

Hannah nodded, satisfied. "Good. I think you should. Where are the children?"

 

"With his parents, probably," Nancy said, running a hand over her face. "I can't believe this."

 

\--

 

Her eyes were still bloodshot as she slid into a private booth at a local upscale Chinese restaurant. Nancy had changed into a tight-fitting black shirt, black slacks, black shoes, a diamond pendant hanging on a silver chain around her neck. Her hair was pulled away from her face in a tight ponytail, her lips bloodless and pale, her unpolished fingertips trembling slightly. The light in the booth, soft and pale yellow, was kind to her taut features.

 

Tracy had replaced the lifejacket with a bright silk shirt and black miniskirt, dangling hoop earrings, her hair in a riot of curls close to her face. Her eyes were still as intent as ever. When the waitress approached them from behind the curtain, she ordered a ginger ale.

 

"You holding up okay?" Tracy asked.

 

Nancy smiled wanly. "Whatever you have to say, it's going to be bad," she replied.

 

Tracy nodded, holding her eyes on Nancy's, then looked down at her notebook. "Subject was in conference with Paul Morris this morning. Conference lasted about an hour."

 

"At his office, or somewhere else?"

 

"Somewhere else," Tracy said. "A bar down the street. They had brunch together."

 

"How did Ned look?"

 

"Like he hadn't slept," Tracy admitted. "I decided to stick with Ned, and not follow Paul."

 

"Paul came to my house," Nancy answered. "What after that?"

 

"He went back to his hotel. He's in room 412 at the Palisades."

 

"Room 412," she repeated. "All right."

 

"You're not going to eat anything?"

 

Nancy shook her head. "You?"

 

"I'll pick up something to go and then relieve Simon."

 

"Put it on the expense account," Nancy said. "And thanks. And we were..."

 

"Never here," Tracy finished. "All right."

 

\--

 

Amy took in the bedroom after Nancy flipped the light switch. Hannah had changed the sheets for her, and kept the old ones; Nancy knew negative evidence wouldn't do her much good, but part of her wondered whether anything would be found on those sheets.

__

_no, no_

 

She shook her head to clear it, and Amy stepped inside. "You must really like horses," she said.

 

Nancy chuckled, softly, sardonically. "People give me these things as a joke," she replied. "Making fun of my name."

__

_His name_. She clenched her nails into her fist.

 

Amy nodded. "It's pretty," she said. She looked at the stitched pillow of a brown and white horse at the head of the bed. "I sleep in here?"

 

"If you want."

 

The babies were asleep, finally. They had been incredibly fussy when they arrived. Nancy wondered if they could sense anything. Amy had been utterly taken with them, and Nancy was pretty sure Amy would have slept in the nursery if Nancy had offered it as an option, but Nancy had a feeling that she was going to roll their crib into the master bedroom and stare at them, sleepless, all night. Afraid she'd wake and they would be gone again.

 

She and Ned were walking hand in hand on the bank of the Muskoka River, the first place he had ever proposed to her. He was smiling at her. She felt an enormous sense of relief sweep over her.

 

She woke and reached over to where he should have been, and felt nothing but the bare sheet. Hana made a soft noise in the darkness.

 

Nancy cried herself back to sleep.

 

\--

 

Ned worked closely with a guy named Jordan Carroll. Recently divorced, dark-haired, light-eyed, Jordan usually instigated the after-work meetings at the bars or clubs. Nancy hated him on sight, and for that reason he'd only been invited to a few of the poker nights.

 

Tracy had a light zippered hoodie over a lace-trimmed silk camisole, and was wearing whiskered bootleg jeans, as she walked into the bar. She found a table, ordered herself a water, made herself preoccupied. She checked her watch often, toyed with her hair and hoop earrings, and became more impatient as the seconds ticked by. The place wasn't too busy, so she gave up her table and moved over to where the guys were playing pool.

 

Jordan noticed her. Brad Turner noticed her too, which was better.

 

"We've got room for another," he said, offering to move aside. He was about her height in her heels, light-haired, and just a bit sloshed.

 

A few of the secretaries sized Tracy up, then looked away as she let the light glint off the diamond on her left ring finger.

 

"Well..."

 

"Come on," Brad said, turning on the smile. "You waiting for somebody?"

 

"Yeah," she said. "My boy-- fiance was supposed to be here ten minutes ago."

 

"I'm sure he won't mind if you kill time while you're waiting."

 

She made a show of hesitating, considering, then nodded firmly to herself, chalked her pool cue and took her place next to him at the table. She smiled around at the guys, introduced herself to Brad and Jordan, and made herself seem unsure again when Brad offered to buy her a drink.

 

"No pressure," he said.

 

She winked at the bartender, and took her ginger ale with a grimace. After another turn which she intentionally flubbed and allowed him to "just make a few suggestions," she took another sip and nodded at Danielle. Brad was staring at Tracy, obviously hoping her boyfriend didn't show.

 

"She looks familiar," Tracy said slowly. "Oh-- man, I think she's the girl who used to be my cousin's fiancee."

 

"Used to be?" Brad asked, politely, and took another swig of his beer.

 

"She broke up with him." Tracy lowered her voice dramatically. "She's a real-- well, anyway, my cousin was totally heartbroken over it."

 

"Can't be," Brad said, confidently. "She's one of the nicest girls in the entire office."

 

"You work with her?" Tracy looked embarrassed. "I'm sorry. I didn't know, I wouldn't have said anything..."

 

Brad shrugged. "Maybe she just looks a whole lot like that girl."

 

Tracy put her hand on her hip, her smile curving the edges of her mouth. "Oh really. So tell me, is she still going out with married guys?"

 

"Not-- not married. Separated."

 

Tracy made a mock-surprised sound. "Right. Sure he is."

 

"He wouldn't go out with her if he weren't," Brad said. "You can ask Jordan here, they're tight."

 

Jordan looked over, looked Tracy over deliberately. "You two talking about me?"

 

Tracy laughed. "Brad here is trying to convince me that girl on the other side of the table isn't a total slut. She broke up with my cousin."

 

Jordan glanced over at Danielle. "I'm surprised she's even here," he said. "She must be waiting for Ned to show."

 

Maybe due to the weight of their glances, Danielle grabbed her purse and started pawing through it. When she produced her cell phone she started for the door. Tracy reached unobtrusively into her pocket and pressed a button.

 

"Bet she just recognized me," Tracy said. "I'd leave if I were her, too. If I'd had another drink I might have started something."

 

Jordan frowned. "Must have been a long time ago, or else..." he shook his head. "I've been here almost the same time she has, and I don't remember her being engaged."

 

"You sure that's the kind of thing you notice in a girl?" Tracy asked, letting the ring on her finger sparkle. Brad laughed.

 

"I'm sure your cousin's over it. He's probably married by now, isn't he?"

 

"Yeah, but it's the principal of the thing," Tracy said. Danielle had walked out, but Tracy didn't dare glance out the window to follow. "I shouldn't get this worked up over it. I'm just pissed that Josh hasn't gotten here yet."

 

As if on cue, her cell phone rang. "Hey," she answered it, having glanced at the caller ID. "I'm here, where are you?"

 

"Waiting outside," Simon answered.

 

"But this is the place, right? The one we drove by last week?"

 

"No," he answered. "That's not it. I'm around the corner."

 

"Oh." She flashed a winning smile at the guys around the pool table, and grabbed her purse. "I'm sorry, honey. I guess I misunderstood."

 

"Yeah," Simon answered. "I'll see you in a few minutes."

 

Tracy walked out of the bar. "She's on her way, too?"

 

"I'll keep an eye out," Simon replied.

 

\--

 

Tracy didn't ask how Simon had done it, and he didn't volunteer the information. As the supervisory operative, she couldn't afford to get into legal trouble.

 

For this particular case, Simon was going demure. Hair dyed jet black (she had no idea what his natural color was, she had seen it every shade of the rainbow), eyes brown, hands ringless, no necklaces or earrings, no visible tattoos. A paper cup holding a straw rested in the cupholder of the sedan, but he'd kept the interior otherwise clean. He was wearing a plain white shirt and khakis, casual but enough to appear professional, should he need to show credentials to a disbelieving hotel manager or taxi driver.

 

"Listen to this," Simon said, and rewound a microcassette recorder he had attached to some innocuous-looking shiny black boombox device. She hooked the earphone over her ear and heard Danielle's voice.

 

"Hey."

 

"Hey," Ned replied, on the tape.

 

"You didn't show up tonight."

 

"I didn't feel like going out."

 

He couldn't have been paying less attention to what she was saying, the signals she was sending. "You sound lonely."

 

Ned laughed, bitterly. "Yeah."

 

"Maybe I can cheer you up. Watch a movie with you, something."

 

"I don't know."

 

"At least let me see you. I'm worried about you."

 

He sighed. "I'll be fine, Danielle."

 

"But I don't know that."

 

"Okay," he said, resigned. "I'm in room 412, Palisades."

 

Tracy unhooked the earphone after hearing their goodbyes. Simon took the headphone jack out of the recorder and hooked it back into the boombox device.

 

"Live feed?" Tracy asked.

 

"Yeah," Simon replied. "And here she is..."

 

Danielle was walking up to the front entrance of the hotel. Tracy bent her head to Simon's, put her face against the side of his and away from the light, her hand at his neck. "Tell me when she's gone in," Tracy murmured.

 

After a moment Simon nodded, and Tracy moved back, listening to Danielle as she climbed into the elevator and made her way up to Ned's room.

 

Tracy wasn't going to just watch. Tracy wanted recordings. Tracy wanted photographs.

 

Most of all she wanted to catch the son of a bitch where it could do Nancy some good.

 

\--

 

Ned was still wearing his dress pants when she walked into the room, but he was down to his undershirt. The television was on, some crinkled fast food wrappers were on the table near the bed. A few pillows had been propped up.

 

His eyes flickered on her face but barely seemed to register her presence once she entered. He settled back on top of the comforter, his face pale in the television's light.

 

Danielle kept glancing at things, looking away, looking at him to see if he was watching her, but he couldn't be farther away from the hotel room. Something on top of the dresser, in the corner next to the base of the television, gleamed; Danielle reached out and touched it.

 

His wedding ring.

 

She glanced back at him, but his left hand was in shadow. She gazed at the ring, again, reached out, touched it with her fingertips, drew it out of the corner.

 

Ned caught the movement out of the corner of his eye. In a sudden, rough movement he was out of the bed, on his feet, next to her, so close she could feel the warmth radiating from his skin, and then he was gone, the ring in his palm, his eyes shining.

 

"No," he said.

 

"Did she leave you?" Danielle said it without thinking.

 

She had noticed it, days before, his distraction, his bare finger, but being here, in this hotel, was more than "having problems" with his wife. She had been surprised, thrilled, when he'd told her to come to a hotel room, but obviously he had planned no sort of interlude. A few suitcases were open in the closet, shirts on top. He was living here.

 

Ned laughed. "In a manner of speaking."

 

"What happened?" Her purse still in her hand, she perched on the edge of the other double bed, leaning forward, her gaze sympathetic and understanding and ultimately, she hoped, strangely alluring.

 

He shook his head. "I haven't been back since that night."

 

Better than she had hoped. Far, far better than she had hoped. She had, in her more optimistic moments, been wishing that she was sleeping on the couch, starving him of female companionship, but this...

 

"I bet she's called you, tried to apologize..."

 

He shook his head. "I haven't taken her calls," he replied. "I told her..." Ned moved suddenly, sat facing her, his legs over the side of the bed and facing hers, his manner troubled. Danielle's gaze traced the line of five-o'clock shadow on his face and wondered for a moment what he'd do if she reached out and touched it.

 

"There can't be any explanation, can there?" he asked her. "I mean... can you think of any reason... other than, she had, it had to have been him. She was seeing him. That's why she was all moody with me, and then she'd feel guilty and come to me and everything would be great for a few days, but there, in our damn house, in that damn bed..."

 

"Ned," Danielle murmured.

 

He pressed his tight fists against his closed eyelids, then took a long breath. "I never want to see her again," he said. She saw him open his palm and throw the ring, hard, against the wall, so that it bounced and was lost in the shadows.

 

"Ned, I'm so sorry," Danielle said.

 

\--

 

Tracy and Simon leaned back into their seats, and looked at each other, the shared headphone cord dangling between them.

 

\--

 

Once Nancy had seen that Hannah had not yet returned from the grocery store, the tears started to spill. Three tries to find the right key to open the house to her. She slammed the deadbolt home and braced herself on the wall, willing the tears to stop. But they wouldn't, she couldn't, and she stayed there, the cool air sliding through the vent and onto her skin, the skin exposed between the faded babydoll t-shirt and threadbare capris she had thrown on after Tracy called, the hopes that maybe...

 

Two hours.

 

She knew what Ned could do with two hours, given creative liberties and a conservative estimate of the time. Danielle hadn't stayed all night, but she didn't have to, given two hours.

 

Danielle, she had been told, through ears that longed to lose their ability to hear or comprehend the words that were ripping her to pieces, Danielle had called Ned, and had stayed in his hotel room for a little over two hours. And after that, like a delayed answer to her prayer, she had stopped being able to hear. Anything on top of it was just that much useless information, and Tracy's mouth had moved with silence coming out. Because Tracy and Simon, even if they had been inside the room watching, could not comprehend the sheer magnitude of his betrayal.

__

_i guess he really believes it, then_

 

And she remembered the night, before she was pregnant, when they had both been so incredibly drunk, and the tremble in his voice when he had told her that the one thing he could never forgive was her being with someone else. Any reassurances she had given him were a blur now, any soothed dismissals of his admission, the firm belief that she would never and this future was not in their cards.

 

It hadn't been, she was sure of that. Not then, not now.

 

She walked upstairs with a slow, even tread, telling herself that if Hannah did return before she completed her mission that she would abandon it and never think of it again. But she felt it like a tongue on a sore tooth, a distracted fingernail across a healing break of skin, a horrified fascination.

 

She found the disc.

 

The photography and videography had been done through a firm owned by a former client of hers, back before she called those she helped clients and back before she'd had a professional license to practice her craft. Very avant-garde, very chic, very expensive, but for her, for what she had done, she had been given a good deal. The disc in her hands had been professionally pressed, the photographs on heavy glossed or matte paper, her wedding portrait, the black and white snapshots of them together, sharing cake, toasting their marriage, the spontaneous joy on her face housed in black square for all to see.

 

How very crass, to have a second copy of their marriage ceremony, how very pessimistic. But so easy for her to slip it into the drive and make him a copy, unmarked, disguised, to slip past his defenses and remind him, make him feel what she was feeling right now.

 

Their parents had copies, of course, but her

__

_their_

 

copy was the director's cut, a version that could be shown to their children

__

_oh God_

 

years from now, the official-in-front-of-God-and-everyone ceremony, divided into chapters for the greatest emotional value, and Elise had had the great idea for them to do interviews, to be seen after, included on the disc, like a little time capsule of who they were just before that moment in November when their union was solemnized a second time.

 

She had seen his interview once. They had watched downstairs on the couch, and he had blushed and ducked his head as she watched his earnestness, and she had laughed self-consciously as he watched her recorded message to him. They had scanned over the ceremony itself, having lived it bare weeks before.

 

She watched it all, now, unheeding of Hannah's greeting when she returned from the grocery store. She watched the gleam Elise had caught in Ned's eyes, the wash of tears he hadn't shed but she had nonetheless seen, as they spoke their vows; she watched them dance together again for the first time, the bravado as he had threatened to shove cake in her face but had fed it to her very gently. The shaving cream on his car.

 

Then, the tightness of unshed tears around her chest nearly unbearable, she took out the second disc. Generic case, hand-scrawled label. Honeymoon video.

 

Not in the traditional crass sense of the word. They had received an expensive DVD camcorder as a wedding gift, and they had been trying it out. She watched herself on the beach, posing for him in a brief but comparatively modest bikini, the welcoming bubble of their in-suite jacuzzi complete with champagne glasses. He had taken the camera on a rafting trip and nearly lost it in the cascade, and she watched the clear frothing blue fill the computer monitor, heard her squeals of excited laughter, remembered the beaming satisfaction on her face as he had extended the camera to arm's-length and filmed them together, pressed cheek against cheek, hair dark and shining from water, crisp blue of an unclouded sky behind them.

 

This man, the man she had married, could not have done this. Could not believe she had slept with another man, could not have slept with another woman himself. Even during their worst fights she would have called it impossible.

 

The monitor blurred to an incomprehensible wash of colors as she let go. A tear dropped and in the second of sight before another tear rose to take its place, she looked down at the bean bag, considered throwing herself on it.

 

Remembered him sitting there, playing his video game, the one she had bought for him, remembered him tossing the controller aside and exchanging that pleasure for the pleasure of her flesh.

 

"Nancy! Lunch!"

 

In their bathroom, as she tried to wash the stains left by her tears off her face, a hundred mornings spent in his arms echoed off the walls. When she glanced unwillingly at their bed she saw him, the lazy grin just beginning to stretch across his face as he gazed at her, and when she closed the door the memory was gone.

 

The couch. Oh God.

 

She dashed those sudden tears on her collar and took a few deep breaths before she could trust herself to walk confidently through the door into the kitchen, without Hannah noticing a hair or eyelash out of place.

 

\--

 

Simon's hair was spiked blue at the tips, now, his eyes heavily rimmed in black eyeliner, a studded leather collar around his throat. Tracy sat back and made beckoning gestures with just the tips of her fingers. "So give."

 

He took a seat across from her, at the table, under the soft domed light, and pushed a coffee across, toward her. "You might want a little before I get started."

 

She nodded, took a sip.

 

"Two and a half years ago, and you'll need to correct me if I'm wrong on this because it was right around the time I was hired, Nancy took a little trip to the Orient around Valentine's Day. She comes back and within a month has Ned wrapped around her finger.

 

"If we jump back a little while, we find that Danielle was hired at Ned's firm. Right around December 1. On December 31, she is at a New Year's Eve party. She catches Mr. Nickerson's eye."

 

"That trollop," Tracy interjected, her eyes gleaming.

 

"Danielle drove ten minutes out of her way this morning, and slowed down in front of a restaurant. I played a hunch. Their third date was there. About three days before Valentine's. Too early for her to have expected anything. He left for Hong Kong the next day, and when he comes back, he doesn't even seem to notice Danielle anymore."

 

"We got any hotel registrations, anything?"

 

Simon shook his head. "Nothing quite so crude as all that. Danielle was utterly heartbroken, but as for Ned, well, he couldn't be bothered. At the end of that year Nancy and Ned were married and Danielle had pretty much thrown in the towel.

 

"But that, my friend, was just under two years ago."

 

"So what changed?" Tracy put her coffee down and leaned forward.

 

"On May 28 Ned took Danielle back to that restaurant for lunch. Paid for her meal, looked very concerned, and she was falling all over herself to comfort him."

 

"Says the waitress," Tracy said, leaning back and closing her eyes.

 

"They came back to work and she was staring at his office door the rest of the day."

 

"Yeah." Tracy rubbed her temples. "So. Ned drops Danielle like a hot potato after meeting Nancy."

 

Simon flipped a page in his notebook. "Not meeting. Right around the time he turned twenty, the illustrious Mr. Nickerson was arrested on suspicion of murder. His attorney was Carson Drew."

 

"Twenty?" Tracy opened her eyes, cocked her head. "Damn," she breathed.

 

Having finished, Simon slumped back in his chair, reaching for his own coffee. "I'm almost positive he hasn't taken her to any hotel, not that we can pin down," he said. "Not any more than we already have. But those lunches look awfully suspicious."

 

"Don't they," Tracy smiled. "Good."

 

Simon closed his eyes.

 

"Just one last question. Why are you wearing that?"

 

Simon smiled. "Rachel Shirley, Ned's sweet little secretary, frequents some rather interesting clubs."

 

\--

 

"I can't do this."

 

Hannah shook her head slightly, her mouth in a drawn line.

 

"What?"

 

Hannah flipped a page in the cookbook she was reading. "'She was so ashamed of herself she wouldn't even come out to the car,'" Hannah said, her voice pitched like Edith's. "'I hope we get full custody. Maybe she even had the guy in the house with her, that's why she didn't want to see me.'"

 

"Do you think that's what she's saying?" Despite the sheen of tears over her eyes, Nancy's voice was hard.

 

Hannah finally looked up. "What do you think she's saying?" she replied. "He has people around him telling him you're the worst thing for him right now, and if you don't go out there right now and act like you don't have a thing in the world to be ashamed of or hide, it'll just back up what she thinks."

 

"Maybe I should try to talk to her...?"

 

"Do you think it would do any good?"

 

Nancy twisted her hair up into a ponytail, the cuffs of her faded jeans frayed and brushing the floor behind the soles of her bare feet. "No," she said. "I need to talk to Ned."

 

"And he won't talk to you." Hannah's voice was as hard as Nancy's. "Plan B."

 

Nancy shook her head. "There is no plan B," she replied. "He-- how could he believe I would do something like this?"

 

"Because he walked in and saw it with his own two eyes."

 

"But we weren't..." Nancy bit her lip.

 

"Oh, you remember now?"

 

She shook her head. "No. I don't. But I know I didn't. I know that. No matter how mad I was, I wouldn't have done that."

 

"And what, Michael's stepped forward to back you up?"

 

Nancy shook her head miserably. "I haven't heard from him."

 

"He has Danielle ready to swear that Michael is a correspondent in your divorce, and you have nothing. Would you believe him if he came to you and said 'I don't know what that half-naked girl was doing in our guest bedroom with me, it was a misunderstanding...'?"

 

"No," Nancy muttered.

 

"So find out what did happen, Nan."

 

The car honked outside. Nancy adjusted the hem of her pale t-shirt, squared her shoulders, and met Hannah's eyes. "How do I look?"

 

"Like someone who is about to leave her mother-in-law with just a bit of doubt."

 

"A bit?" Nancy asked, an old gleam in her eye.


	10. Chapter 10

He hadn't been entirely comfortable with going out with Danielle. Until she had sensed that, maybe, and pointed out that they were just friends. No pressure. No expectations. And then she made some sort of veiled allusion to the few dates he'd taken her on before his reunion with Nancy, reminded him of how, at one time, there had been some history still left for them.

 

It was their third, again; a bad number for them, she joked, and he laughed along with her, over the bottle of wine he'd ordered. Remembered the way she had appeared to him, back then, during the time he had almost convinced himself that he would never see Nancy again, but now he was certain.

 

Danielle was wearing a navy dress, open-toed shoes, lips bright and laughing up at him. She was hanging on his every word, but he knew that, expected it, was almost nearly drinking it in. But he didn't order dessert to split with her, they paid their share on the check, and when they pulled up at his hotel room she did ask him, eyes bright, a grin across her lips, whether she could come in. Made some joke about it, in fact.

 

Much later he didn't remember exactly what they were doing. He was looking for something, standing between the twin beds, and Danielle was standing, laughing up into his eyes, on her heels, their bodies close together, her green eyes up into his, his face relaxing into an answering smile.

 

When she reached up, grabbed him by the collar, brought his face down to hers, and kissed him.

 

\--

 

"Come on in."

 

She stepped back, her eyes down, away from his face, then walked toward the kitchen. He stared at the soles of her bare feet as he followed, afraid to look around and feel the darkness rush in, close over his head. The curtains he had chosen at her behest, the furniture that had been his and hers, the couch where they had watched television and kissed and touched each other like hormonal teenagers—

 

He cleared his throat. "Okay."

 

He couldn't pinpoint what about her was making him uneasy, but he felt on edge. Her hair was in a casual ponytail, her shirt untucked and falling to her thigh, her jeans' cuffs rolled up above her bare ankles.

 

Her eyes.

 

She looked so tired. She wrapped her too-slender fingers around a warm mug of tea standing on the kitchen bar and stared down at it, her gaze wide and unwavering. Then she looked up, startled.

 

"I'm sorry. Do you want something to drink?"

 

He directed his gaze at the lower right cabinet. The last time he had been there, a menagerie of glowing glass bottles would have met his need. But maybe those bottles weren't there anymore, maybe she had sipped cocktails while laughing at something her boyfriend had said, maybe his hands had been everywhere and had smudged Ned's fingerprints from every surface in their house.

 

"No. Thank you."

 

Nancy sniffed, swiped under her nose. Ned's eyes wandered up to hers, unwilling but unable to stop, to the dark pink rims.

 

"The—the babies are upstairs. I'll go get them."

 

At the foot of the stairs he paused, watching the movement of her hips as she climbed. The upstairs was shrouded in darkness, broken by the fading afternoon sunlight. The house, their house, her house, was so still, so quiet.

 

He followed her up without knowing why. Picturing another man's clothes discarded on the bathroom floor, on the floor of their—her—bedroom. Another man following her into the pale yellow nursery with its twin cribs, the nursery he had repainted the week before their wedding.

 

Ned felt something terrible and dark rising in him as he watched her bend over the crib, so so quiet, her fingertip sliding over their daughter's forehead in a touch soft as a whisper. She straightened and walked back into the hallway, beckoning him back, passing so close to him that he could feel her breathe.

 

"They're asleep right now," she whispered, and for the first time she met his gaze.

 

The darkness filled everything, every crack, every bit of breath in him, the space between his teeth, between his fingers. Everything. The center of his brain was dark red. His bones were hot.

 

His fingers closed around her shoulder and he slammed her into the wall.

 

Her gaze didn't waver from his. "Ned, I—"

 

"Shut up."

 

Obediently her mouth closed. She looked down at his mouth briefly, her eyes filling. Her lower lip trembled once, but she took a slow, audible breath and met his gaze, misery in her own.

 

"Tell me why you did it," he said, the darkness in his words, his voice trembling. "Tell me what happened, why you did this."

 

Nancy shook her head, her voice just below a whisper. "I can't."

 

Ned's rage rose, and as his frustration became an audible moan Nancy darted an anxious gaze at the cracked nursery door. He marched her down the hallway, to the next door, his grip iron on her unresisting arms.

 

"Why did you do this?" He slammed her into the wall again, momentarily satisfied by the solid sound of her body striking the unresisting surface, the twinge of pain across her face.

 

"Ned, I—"

 

His gaze caught silk gleaming in the darkness. Her cotton shirt covered a smooth camisole trimmed in lace, against her flushed skin.

 

She followed his gaze and he jerked open her shirt. "What, is he coming by later? Were you just getting ready for him?"

 

He could feel blood flooding his face. She squirmed under his grip and he redoubled it. "Please let me go," she whispered.

 

"I'll touch you anytime I damn well please."

 

Her mouth fell open and a tear slid down her face, down her throat, to the opening of her torn shirt. "Don't hurt me."

 

"Because he doesn't like bruises, does he. You told me that." He looked over, at the unmade bed, and swung her with him. "Do you fuck him there, in our bed?"

 

And his voice was trembling. And his face was hot and wet with sudden treacherous tears.

 

Nancy reached down and finished unbuttoning her shirt, and he watched, the darkness pounding with his heart but holding his tongue still. She drew a trembling breath and then touched his shirt, hesitant, then steady as she unbuttoned his.

 

"No," she murmured. Her tongue peeked out as she licked a tear from her lips.

 

He tasted the salt as he kissed her, pressing his mouth hard against hers, and she didn't resist. She reached down and tugged his shirt out of his pants, but when she started to unbutton them he grabbed her hands and forced them to her sides, still kissing her.

 

"No, no," he whispered, his face wet with their mingled tears. "No, this shouldn't be happening."

 

She tilted her head. "But I want you. I don't deserve you, I know, I know how much you want to hurt me."

 

He grabbed her again and held her hands behind her back, and her mouth opened, her head tilted back. A fresh wave of tears slipped down her cheeks.

 

"Nancy, God—"

 

He released her and was silent as she stripped, her wrists still bearing the red marks from his fingers, her upper arms glowing with warm, fresh bruises, all from him. He breathed through his mouth as she took his clothes off, and then she pulled back the covers.

 

"He's never touched me here."

 

Ned didn't lift his feet, but slid them over the carpet until he was facing her, standing over her as she sat on the bed, her face tilted back to see his. "We shouldn't."

 

She grasped his hands, her touch light, and slowly leaned back, pulling him on top of her, surrounding her body with his. "It's always been you," she whispered. "You've always been the only one I wanted. Don't leave me right now. Don't leave me alone. Don't hurt me again."

 

He kissed her, her face wet under his, her body shaking with sobs under him. The darkness dispersed as night fell, as she forgave the bruises, as his body found its way into hers.

 

 

And Ned woke in his cold bed, alone, shaking, his face wet with tears, unable to sleep.

 

\--

 

The nightmare stayed with him. When he woke, he thought it would be to her face. During the day he found himself reaching for his cell phone, unconsciously, an unsteady sense of peace in him that he hadn't felt for nearly half a year now. When his group met for a round-table discussion he could still feel it in the back of his head, like a blurred memory.

 

But they had never made up from a fight like that. Not after the children had been born.

 

And even when Danielle spoke to him, the words seemed to be coming from far away.

 

\--

 

Her husband's name was on her lips when Nancy woke. She turned her head and expected him to be beside her. She could remember him there, so clearly. He had been so angry, angry at her for betraying him, and she had told him over and over that she hadn't, she never would, but in her head it was all bound up with Jean and the way she had expected and known he had wanted to react to her admission. But he couldn't. And there had been evidence, proof, backing up what he'd halfway believed and expected to happen all along, but somehow, in the dream, she had diffused his anger again, had convinced him to stay with her, if only for a little while. She had known that if he left, again, she would be exposed and vulnerable to it.

 

And now he was gone. She was in the same pajamas she'd worn to bed. The babies weren't in the nursery, they were in the crib beside her bed.

 

Nancy threw her arm back over her eyes and wished for dreamless sleep. Hana, noticing her movement, cried out in hunger, and Nancy stifled a groan as she tossed back the covers.

 

Amy was at the table downstairs, her hair plaited into two brown braids on either shoulder, a pair of denim shorts pulled over her purple and green swimsuit. She was eating a bowl of sweetened cereal, her legs kicking at the rungs of her chair. After breakfast they were all to set off for a day at the local water park. Amy had been looking forward to the trip for the week since Hannah had had the bright idea to go there.

 

Nancy glanced at her cell phone. The screen was dim. It blinked back at her, strong signal, network secure, no new messages, text or voice.

 

She sighed, inwardly.

 

Amy liked the minivan. She liked riding in the front seat, adjusting the air conditioning so it blew the hair which had escaped her braid off her forehead. She liked holding the map and announcing turns, holding the overpriced bottle of soda Nancy bought at a gas station in the cupholder instead of between her bare thighs. She liked that she was able to see the towering signs of the waterpark before Hannah, and could shriek and gasp with excitement. She liked making tugging motions at the truck drivers, getting them to blow their horns.

 

She didn't know that Nancy knew the turns to the waterpark as well as the back of her own hand. That Nancy had been there with Ned before, with Bess and George,  in string bikinis and ludicrous floppy hats and thonged sandals, buying overpriced nachos and sharing threadbare towels, their hair stiff with chlorene. She didn't know that Nancy was often smiling along with Amy at the truck drivers, and the sight of the two of them was what caused the prolonged horn blasts over the sounds of traffic. That, and the triangle bikini top, bright and filled to capacity.

 

She didn't stay away from her cell phone too long that day. After a brief tour of the more exciting rides, Amy spent most of the day splashing happily in an inner tube around the slow-moving river ride. Even Hannah joined her for a few cycles. Nancy and Hannah had erected a large opaque umbrella over the babies, and Nancy lay beside it, sunning herself, ignoring all the appreciative glances thrown her way. The wedding ring on her finger turned the skin to comparatively pale gold beneath, against her tan.

 

Despite the dream she felt peaceful. She'd resisted the idea at first, but maybe this was what she had needed. A day to lay back and relax and forget

 

(but she couldn't, not with her silent phone on a corner of her blanket, out of the sunlight and the reach of their children)

 

for a little while. But that wasn't it, that wasn't right. She felt like she did when she'd just hung up the phone with him after a pleasant conversation, one that had ended in the promise of a bottle of wine with dinner and more afterwards. The kind of conversation they hadn't had in months.

 

Maybe they would never be friends again.

 

Nancy turned over, onto her stomach, palms flat on the blanket and her chin against them. The idea of that, an old idea now, but one that had not yet stopped hurting. In a very basic way she and Ned had never been friends; in another, he'd been the best friend she'd ever had. He'd been attracted to her from the first, and she to him, and it was more than physical, more than mental or emotional or anything so simple to explain. He knew her inside out, in ways Bess and George never would, and that intimacy had been missing long before he had left her with an empty house and an accusation even her memory could not fully disprove. It was an echo of that, of the shared familiarity, that kept her glancing at her cell phone, waiting for a call or message that, in the end, didn't come.

 

So she fed the babies, her skin warm and dark to the touch, as Hannah and Amy made some concoction out of banana pudding and grated vanilla wafers and banana slices. Hannah even, with a wink, served her a drink with a paper umbrella skewering a pineapple and cherry. Amy was delighted to receive one as well, and finished her shirley temple in record time.

 

By bedtime she was angry at herself for believing, even for a moment, that he was going to call. That she would have been weak enough to pick up the phone and read the message or hear his voice, if he had.

 

And that the thought of it was enough to set her heart pounding.

 

\--

 

Ned bunched the pillow under his head, unable to sleep and unaware that on the other side of Chicago his wife felt the same.

 

If it were true...

 

He had put off Danielle for the evening, barely noticing her disappointed pout, the pit of his stomach still unsteady when he remembered the sudden startled moment when she had pulled him down and pressed her lips to his. And even though he had told Danielle that he never wanted to see Nancy again

__

_he doesn't like bruises does he_

 

he could still see her in that darkened bedroom, camisole glowing under her shirt, tears staining her cheeks. Could remember her pleading with him not to leave her.

 

Bruises. That wasn't Michael, that was Jean.

__

_i know you want to hurt me_

 

He did want to hurt her. Impossibly badly. But it also scared him, how much he wanted this patently impossible thing to be true.

 

That night was when he called Strathman. That night was when he found out that Nancy hadn't been back to see him since just after Christmas.

 

But the rage at that discovery was soon replaced with the persistent sensation that there was a string around his finger, reminding him of something important. Something he hadn't done.

__

_don't leave me_

 

He still couldn't sleep.

 

He was in a meeting on Monday, while the girls were with her, he was bored and drawing a line of alternately shaded triangles on the very important looking pad of legal foolscap on the table before him.

 

His pulse rushed in his ears as he found himself writing, She said she would be too busy but she was always gone.

 

She had always been gone. And even after he had started suspecting her of infidelity, she had kept up the fiction, saying her sessions with Strathman had gone well.

 

Ned sat up straighter, and Brad across the table noticed, shot him a look.

 

Thursdays.

 

He remembered Thursdays when Nancy had clung to him, overaffectionate, brushing off any concern about missing her appointment.

 

He remembered to look in her eyes when she had said that her sessions had gone well.

 

That hadn't been subterfuge. That had been fear.

 

He pushed himself back from the table before he thought, and Brad's already concerned look turned to one of alarm.

 

He stared at his watch, waiting for the break.

 

\--

 

She was in the grocery store when her cell phone emitted a sharp tone, indicating that someone had left her voicemail.

 

Her stomach began a slow flip as she looked down at the tiny screen.

 

She held off until she was in the car, afraid that if she listened while in the store that she would burst into tears. She fiddled with the radio, adjusted the air conditioning, then grabbed her phone and called up her voicemail.

 

"Nancy."

 

His recorded voice was solemn. Her heart sank. She thought about hanging up, her sight blurring as she gasped in a breath.

 

"I want to see you," he continued, and she heard the same tremble in his voice as she felt in her breath. "This afternoon. Let me... let me know." He cleared his throat. "I need to see you."

 

She pressed her fist to her mouth as his message ended.

 

Amy was in the backyard running around in the sprinkler, screaming, a thin blonde-haired girl running around with her. Nancy watched them through the glass doors to the backyard, as she stepped into the kitchen.

 

Hannah was sitting at the kitchen table going through a cookbook with paper and pencil at her hand. She looked up as Nancy pushed the door open. "What's wrong," she said immediately.

 

"Ned wants to see me," she said, then took a breath.

 

\--

 

She drove too fast and arrived fifteen minutes early, then sat motionless in her car and thought about turning back. She ran her fingers through her hair and put the top up on her convertible.

 

Once she actually forced herself to leave the car, she found it nearly impossible to lift her feet or even look over at the park. She felt angry, afraid, and the slightest, the slightest bit hopeful. Mostly angry, though, angry at what he had done, angry that she had come running at his call. But the hope was enough to bring her there.

 

She drew a deep breath, all the way down to her toes, and started walking into the park. Ned was already there, his hands shoved in his pockets, and she drank him in despite herself, her anger draining away.

 

He was pacing. But when he caught sight of her, time seemed to stop. Everything seemed to stop. Her steps shortened until she was still, staring at the man whose ring she still wore.

 

She could see new, fine lines on his face. His hair was a bit longer. Faded jeans and a dark t-shirt. The expression on his face was the one she had imagined he would have when he came to their door and said he was sorry for all he had put her through and wanted her to take him back: the slight rise in his eyebrows, the warmth of his eyes, the hesitant curve of his smile at seeing her. The almost hungry way he looked at her, after spending a month apart, memorizing her again. But his left hand was ringless, for the first time in a long time.

__

_Ned_, she thought, and there was agony in the single syllable, but she could not force herself to speak it. It lay on her lips heavy, and as he stared at her, his own silent lips parted.

 

She looked almost the same as she had in his dream. But she had dressed carefully for him this time, no frayed cuffs or loose button-down on this version of his wife. Smooth form-fitting brushed cotton sleeveless top, tailored straight-cut pants ending in sensible thick-heeled shoes. No necklace gleaming around her neck, but the rings, the all-important rings that he'd believed would keep it from ever happening again, still glowed serenly around the ring finger of her left hand. Hair pulled back, black leather purse bouncing lightly against her hip. The usual summer tan gleaming on her skin. But her face looked thinner, and even her makeup could not hide the smudged shadows just above her cheeks.

 

Nancy let herself imagine for a moment how it would feel to throw herself into his arms, to let him hold her. And then she remembered how he had told his attorney to treat her, the mateless ring on her finger, and she found the strength to still her legs.

 

"Nan," he said.

 

"Hey," she said softly. She felt the same weak-kneed sensation he'd been able to create in her since they had met, ten years before. "Thought you said you never wanted to see me again."

 

He half-smiled at his feet. "Yeah, well," he said.

 

"No, really," she said. "I thought our children would never see us in the same room and we'd have to divide up funerals and graduations until one of us died."

 

He looked up at her. "Did you really think that?"

 

She closed her eyes briefly as he stepped close to her. "It's not like that's how I wanted it. But your lawyer was very clear."

 

"I was hurt," he said.

 

"Now I am," she said, amazed at the steady tone of her voice.

 

"Why should you be? You're the one who gave up on us."

 

"I told your mouthpiece, and I'll tell you, I never slept with Michael. I don't care what Danielle made you see..."

 

"I didn't mean that," Ned replied, though his eyes had softened slightly. "You stopped going to counseling."

 

She laughed. "Right. Yeah, well, after you left it seemed a little pointless."

 

"You haven't been since January."

 

"What kind of joke is this?"

 

"I've talked to the doctor. He hasn't seen you."

 

Nancy flushed. "He's lying," she said.

 

"Why would he lie?"

 

"I don't know," she burst out, frustrated. "You thought I gave up on us?"

 

"You didn't act like it was much fun to be married to me, there at the end."

 

She shrugged and half-turned away from him. "That didn't mean I didn't want you there," she replied quietly. "I didn't give up on us. I didn't start seeing Michael, I didn't sleep with him, I didn't..." She felt tears of rage and frustration well up in her eyes, and covered her face from his sight before he could see them.

 

"Come with me," he said softly.

 

"What?" she asked, wiping at her eyes.

 

"Come with me to see the doctor. Prove to me that he's lying, and I'll believe you."

 

She glared at him, hard, her eyes still gleaming. "You believe him over me?"

 

"What was I supposed to think?"

 

"Maybe that one of us could actually be faithful to this relationship."

 

"What good is faithful when I can't even breathe without you yelling at me?"

 

"Look, I'm sorry, is that what you want to hear? Because I am, I'm sorry if whatever I did drove you away, I never wanted that to happen. My God, Ned... is this why you're with her now, because I yelled at you for not taking out the trash?"

 

"And for not... wait, with who?"

 

"You're with Danielle. And don't bother denying it."

 

"I'm not..." He shook his head, feeling the ice water in his veins, certain she could see through it. "I'm not with Danielle. Now just, please, Nancy, come with me right now. Come with me to see the doctor."

 

She stayed rooted to the spot. "Why are you lying to me," she said softly, unable to stop another tear from streaking down her cheek.

 

"I'm not lying. And if you don't come with me right now and get this settled tonight, I am going to throw you over my shoulder and drag you there."

 

\--

 

"You weren't here."

 

Nancy looked down at his appointment book, disbelief on her face. She took the page between her fingers, felt the weight of it. "You fabricated this." She looked up at Dr Strathman. "Why would you do this?"

 

Ned's mouth was a line, and her gaze at him was desperate. "Get inside my head," she said to Strathman. "Prove it to him. Prove that I was here with you and not cheating on my husband."

 

Once she was under she told it immediately, like a confession that could not leave her fast enough. Under the doctor's guidance she described to him and her husband Michael's seduction, the unwilling but total succumbing to him. She hadn't been anywhere near Strathman's office when she'd told Ned she would be. The notation Strathman had made when Nancy called in January to cancel the rest of her appointments until further notice, Nancy confirmed. She hadn't been able to tell Ned, but she had, on occasion, been able to resist the pull, and those were the nights she had spent with Ned instead of going to Michael.

 

The string Ned had imagined loosed, but he felt a sinking in his stomach as he and the doctor exchanged glances.

 

"He said he'd kill the baby."

 

Nancy was crying and Ned was watching her, his heart beating uncomfortably hard, his face flushed and warm.

 

"Who said he'd kill the baby?" the doctor asked.

 

"Michael," Nancy replied.

 

His voice came out harsher than he had intended; he had been silent during the abbreviated interrogation, because Nancy didn't trust him quite yet, not enough to be the one poking around with the flashlight. "Michael said who would kill the baby?" Ned asked.

 

Nancy visibly shrank in front of them, into her clothes, into the seam of the couch, drawing her limbs in tight, pulling her head down. She was cowering, and her lips trembled forming words neither of them could read.

 

Strathman glanced over at Ned, warning him from speaking again, then took her through a relaxation technique until she wasn't shaking. She took longer to answer the question, though, her fingers tracing meaningless patterns on the couch cushions, and Ned's hands gripped the armrests of his chair in white-knuckled dread.

 

"Is Michael friends with Jean?"

 

Ned could feel his skin crawling at the sound of that name, and Nancy responded the same way, shrinking slightly back again. But she nodded, lazily, like a child. "Michael is keeping me for him," she said, simply, and would not elaborate.

 

Knowing the session was almost over, Ned held up three fingers, and Strathman nodded.

 

"Did you ever sleep with Michael?"

 

"No," Nancy replied.

 

"Did you sleep with Jean?"

 

"Not since last time, not since Ned came and found me." The doctor had damped her response to what she was saying so fully that she said the words with almost no emotion.

 

"Have you slept with anyone else while you've been married to Ned?"

 

She shook her head, a tear slipping down her cheek. "Not this time. No one else."

 

Ned left the room as Strathman began to bring her out of it, flipping his cell phone open. He hadn't bothered to have the doctor ask the fourth question, the big one, bonus round, because he already knew the answer but he didn't want to hear it from her lips.

__

_Jean used Michael to get to you this time, could he do it again?_

__

_Oh yes; of course, with anyone, anywhere, anytime, they say the word and I fall._

 

\--

 

"Come back with me."

 

They hadn't touched, had barely spoken since leaving the doctor's office. He had prescribed some pills to help her relax, and Ned had taken the scrip to the pharmacy, paid for it, and the clear orange bottle lay in the valley between her knees as she stared out the passenger window of his Jaguar.

 

She had also been crying the entire time, with her gaze locked out the window, as though he didn't know the sound of it and wouldn't be aware as long as she didn't look at him. Hurriedly she brushed at her face, aware of the swelled red skin around her eyes, and glanced in his direction.

 

"Why?"

 

They had pulled up at the park, next to her car. Her hand was on the door handle. She was already fumbling for her purse.

 

"I don't want you to be alone tonight."

 

"You mean you don't want to be alone tonight," she shot back, but she hadn't opened the door.

 

"I mean that based on what you said in there, you're in danger. I don't want you to be alone. There are already people watching our parents, and Hannah and Amy."

 

"Oh, and you'll be the one watching me?"

 

"Yeah." He had caught the expression in her eyes as she asked the question, and his heart sank. "Got a problem with that?"

 

She scowled, but was still considering. "If that's true why don't you just..." She didn't continue.

 

He trailed a fingertip down the back of her hand. "It's too soon."

 

She nodded. She picked up the bottle of pills and shook them absently. "Too soon," she repeated. "Okay."

 

\--

 

Ned had a strange sense of deja vu as he prowled around his hotel room, smoothing the cover on the already-made bed, checking for extra pillows and blankets to use while sleeping on the couch, tidying the month's worth of clutter on his bathroom sink. She had asked him how long they were to use this arrangement, and he had been vague because he himself didn't know; as long as it takes was what he wanted to tell her, but he didn't know how long it would be and he knew that there was little point in leaving their daughters with Hannah while they waited in a hotel room for something to happen. Besides, maybe nothing would, maybe Ned's mere presence would be enough to scare Michael and Jean off, but Ned had his doubts.

 

He couldn't go home, not like this.

 

Once she arrived she told him that she would need to return to the house in the morning, because the milk she had left for the babies would last through ten o'clock at the latest and their shrink appointment was for eleven. Her red-rimmed eyes avoided his, and she changed for bed early, into a tank top and flannel pants.

 

They watched television on the couch in his room, pointedly not touching, but when her tranquilizer started taking effect and her head lolled, he reached over without thinking and led her head to his shoulder. She fought him a little at first, but he was stronger, especially as her eyelashes fluttered.

 

When he thought she was finally out he picked her up and carried her to the bed, put her under the covers and pulled them over her, sat down beside her and called the front desk for an 8 AM wakeup call. When he hung up the phone Nancy was blinking sleepily up at him.

 

"Come to bed?" she asked.

 

He hooked a thumb over his shoulder. "I was gonna sleep in there."

 

"Please," she said, then yawned, and he could sense no guile or pretense in her. She held his gaze for another long moment, and he finally gave in.

 

The bedroom was dark and quiet, with only the sound of the air conditioner hushed in the corner, when he turned to her, watched her face for a moment, then cupped his hand over her cheek.

 

"Nan," he breathed.

 

"Mmm," she replied, barely moving.

 

"I'm sorry it had to be like this," he murmured.

 

"It isn't over," she said. She turned away from him and buried her face in the pillow.

 

\--

 

Her sleep wasn't easy. She had two nightmares, one on the heels of the first, and when he woke and tried to hush her, he wasn't sure if she was even aware of his presence. After the second one, when he had almost succeeded in comforting her again, she turned her face, eyes closed, toward him.

 

"What made you come back to me," she asked, her diction slow and lazy from exhaustion.

 

"I had a dream," he told her, stroking her cheek again. "Go back to sleep."

 

She had another nightmare and fought him like a cat when he tried to comfort her. He finally wrestled her to her back and pinned her underneath him, her head whipping back and forth, and he kept one hand on her joined wrists and the other against her face as he whispered soft comforting things to her, reassured her that she was safe and he wasn't coming and everything was going to be all right, but she kept shaking, kept keening high unintelligible words that he couldn't understand.

 

During her third nightmare was when the lock on their door clicked back with nearly noiseless motion; during her third nightmare was when the police detective who had been alerted by Ned's call down to the desk drew his gun and waited; and as Nancy begged her husband not to lose her again, the cop grabbed Michael Delgado as he broke into their hotel room.

 

\--

 

The cop, Officer Ryan, a friend of Ned's who owed him a favor, called him out of the room to tell him what had happened, to ask what Ned thought they should ask when they brought him down to the station. After Ryan left the room, Ned walked in to find Nancy sitting up in bed, sipping the glass of water he'd left on the table next to her side.

 

"Nan?"

 

She looked at him. "He's gone?"

 

Ned nodded slowly, keeping his eyes on her. "Yeah."

 

She put the glass down and slid down under the covers. "You just think that," she whispered.

 

He stood motionless until her breathing evened out, then walked over and watched her until he was sure she was asleep. Then he walked out and placed another call.

 

\--

 

When Alex Cabot came to work the next morning, among her many voicemails were two messages. One from Ned Nickerson, just wanting to make sure that Jean was still behind bars and not eligible for parole or anything of the sort.

 

The second was a slightly less coherent call from Officer Ryan's supervising officer.

 

\--

 

Nancy still didn't entirely trust him.

 

He wasn't sure how much of it was due to good old-fashioned self-preservation, because of the way he'd had Paul treat her over the past month, his threatening to leave her over a night that he was beginning to believe she had no recollection of living.

 

He'd wanted it all to be a bad dream. And in a way it was, but in that way the rest of their lives were slated to be a nightmare in themselves.

 

She was across the table from him, cup of coffee at her right hand, a generous stack of blueberry waffles slathered in syrup before her. She had no appetite, and neither did he. Not for this.

 

He was seized by a sudden urge to run away with her. Go back home, get the babies and as much as they needed to get by, and the two of them would vanish somewhere. Change their hair, their names, their jobs, all the things that were unimportant, all the facts that didn't change who they were. They knew enough languages like a native that it wouldn't be difficult to hide them in some provincial French town, some busy German city, somewhere, anywhere that he wouldn't dread Nancy picking up the phone and hearing Jean's voice on the other end, powerless to do anything but obey it.

 

He was tired as hell and her tranquilizing pills didn't make for the most inspired of mornings.

 

"You're going to leave again, aren't you." Her voice was low, melting into the echoing coffee cup as she took a singularly unenthused sip.

 

"What?" he asked, surprised that she would come out and say it, and so calmly.

 

"I said you don't mind if I leave, do you," she repeated, her eyes dull. "I need to go make sure things are okay with the kids before we go see the doctor again. You're welcome to come with me," she said, and at that he saw the first hint of anything near interest in her eyes. A very, very guarded hope.

__

_You coward_, he thought. _At least you could have told her last night. You could tell her now._

 

But he couldn't. "Go ahead," he told her. "I have some other things to take care of too, but I'll meet you there."

 

\--

 

His phone was still silent an hour later. No missed calls, no messages. He hadn't heard anything since he had been informed of Delgado's capture. What he was really waiting on was a call from Alex Cabot, to let him know that even if Jean did still live, at least he was far enough away to do only this limited damage, this flailing of his arms through the bars, instead of the direct interference of his actual presence in their lives. He could still remember his wife startling awake next to him so many times, in a cold sweat, tears pouring down her cheeks, absolutely certain that he was in the room, that he was there, that he was coming, it was only a matter of time, the stubborn insistence that even if Ned couldn't see him that he was there.

 

And in a way, he had been.

 

"You're going to leave her, aren't you."

 

Ned turned his head and met the doctor's gaze steadily. "I've been thinking about it," he admitted.

 

"Why? She never slept with Michael, and the more recent difficulties in your marriage, the ones that started in the middle of her pregnancy, she's just confessed were influenced by Michael's interference."

 

"It's not going to stop," Ned said, and hearing the words come across his lips, in his own voice, he knew it was true, knew that all Nancy's whispered warnings had been right. "He's going to send someone else, someone else, someone else, he's going to wait until I'm sick of this and my guard is down and until he's out, until he can be the one. Michael is keeping her for him, but I've taken care of Michael, and now I get to wait until there's another one. A teller at the bank, one of her operatives, one of our friends. I can lock her in our house, blackout, quarantine, make sure she never hears another human voice, sees another human face, but I can't. She wasn't made for that and I can't."

 

"And that was what you promised when you married her, wasn't it."

 

Ned slumped down into the chair, his head in his hands. "Then tell me what to do," he said.

 

"You be the voice," Strathman said. "You be the voice she hears on the other end of the phone."

 

\--

 

When Nancy breezed in thirty minutes later, she gave them a tentative smile. "The kids are fine, Hannah's about to take them over to your mom's. So, ready to poke around in my head again?"

 

Ned patted the couch next to him. "How about we talk about what happened last night."

 

The doctor looked back and forth between the two of them. "What happened last night?"

 

Nancy didn't remember any of it, especially not the cryptic remarks he repeated back. As they talked Nancy drew away from her husband, her lip curling down.

 

"And Michael...?" she asked.

 

"Is being questioned now," Ned replied.

 

Nancy wrapped her arms around her torso and hugged herself. "Great," she murmured.

 

"Nan, we... we have an idea," Ned said. "Something that could help, we think."

 

"I can't do it," Strathman said. "It would be unethical. But Ned has expressed a deep interest in learning how to hypnotize."

 

Nancy looked at Ned searchingly for a moment. "What?" she asked softly.

 

He reached up and touched the side of her face. "Let me make sure he never gets in your head again."

 

\--

 

"Did you ever trust Michael?" Strathman asked, once she was under.

 

"Not from the moment I met him," Nancy replied.

 

"So how did he get in?"

 

Her only response was a faint smile.

 

"Did Jean make a way for someone else to get in?"

 

She nodded, but didn't elaborate.

 

"A word, a gesture, something you would know when you heard it?"

 

She nodded.

 

"Where am I right now?"

 

"You can't get there from here," she replied, and Ned looked at the doctor.

 

"Did you trust Jean?"

 

She shivered. "That didn't matter," she said, her voice so low they could barely hear it.

 

"Do you trust Ned right now?"

 

She drew her knees up to her chest, her lip drawn down, but didn't reply.

 

"Maybe?"

 

"He's lying to me," Nancy said. "Not until he tells me the truth."

 

Strathman shook his head at Ned. "Do you trust me?"

 

She nodded. "Mostly."

 

"Why only mostly?"

 

"You're his friend before mine."

 

"Why do you think that?"

 

She shrugged. "If this doesn't work he'll leave me."

 

"Do you think that or know it?"

 

She turned her head, let it rest on her shoulder, the skin around her eyes creased in concentration. "He never thought it would be this way. I never wanted it to be this way. I knew he'd lose patience with it eventually. I knew when Michael took me under the first time that Ned would leave me. I knew it. And he did. If he can't fight it then he's going to give up and leave me alone to face it, and we both know I can't.

 

"And because I know it, Jean knows it, and Jean is just waiting for Ned to realize there's no way he can win this."

 

Ned touched his own face and his hand came away damp.

 

\--

 

"It's not going to be easy," Dr Strathman said. "You've been in here with her enough times, I could teach you to do it right now. But I don't even know what he's left in her head, what kind of minefields we're going to have to go through. And on top of that, Ned, she doesn't trust you, and I can't blame her. Not with what you just told me. Until she trusts you, there's no way she'll even let you in, much less let you be the only one she does."

 

Ned smiled, bitterly. "And even if I'm the only one who can get into her head, he can still take her away from me."

 

They heard her honk impatiently from the parking lot, and Ned shook the doctor's hand. "Thanks," he said.

 

"The hard part's not over yet, Ned."

__

_Because even if I did get her to trust me, she'd still find out about Danielle._

 

\--

 

Nancy was first home. As Ned was negotiating the turn his cell phone finally did ring, and he grabbed it. Nancy was unlocking the door, although he noticed that she didn't touch the keypad first. He tensed, waiting for the squall of the alarm, but it didn't come. Nancy had made some comment about how Hannah wasn't accustomed to locking a keypad every time she left the house, and packing Amy and two babies into the car probably hadn't helped.

 

"Ned?"

 

"Yes," he replied, still staring at the keypad, his door ajar and chiming.

 

"This is Alex Cabot. I got your message this morning, and I heard from Officer Ryan. Michael talked. Jean was planning a jailbreak, and Michael was going to get Nancy to him before he left the country. Is she with you?"

 

"Yeah," Ned replied, climbing out of the car.

 

"When we checked, Jean was gone."

 

Ned's mouth went dry. "When?"

 

"He's been gone all morning. Overpowered the guards and walked out. We haven't found any sign of him yet, he's not where Michael was expecting to meet him later today. And as far as Michael knows, there is no way to contact Jean. Where are you now?"

 

"At the house," Ned replied. He reached back into the car and grabbed his gun out of the glove compartment, locked the car, and began approaching the door. "At our house. Send someone here."

 

He heard her call something over her shoulder. "They're on the way," she said. "Is he there?"

 

"I hope to hell not," Ned replied, and pushed open the door.

 

\--

 

Ned thought he was ready for it. He'd been in the situation once before, after all.

 

But he wasn't. Not once he took it in.

__

_This is what you would have left her to face alone._

 

Jean had his left arm up around her neck, gun in his right hand, barrel angled up so that if he pulled the trigger the bullet would travel nearly straight up, neatly avoiding him in the process.

 

And she...

__

_You would have left her like this._

 

And Nancy had indeed been here before, but this time her hand was not in a desk drawer, was nowhere near the carving knives or heavy kitchen equipment, that was all on the other side of the kitchen. Her back and his against the island, face pale, eyes wide.

 

Ned's gun was out of sight, safety off, at the small of his back.

 

"Shut the door."

 

His voice was cold and held no charm, but it never had for Ned, anyway. Without looking behind him, Ned shouldered the door closed and deadbolted it.

 

"Who have you called?"

 

Ned licked his lips. "No one," he replied. Entirely true.

 

"Put your phone on the table," Jean said.

 

Ned reached into his pocket and put his cell phone on the hallway table, then stood motionless, feet shoulder's-width apart, hands hanging loose at his sides.

 

"Is there a back way out of here?"

 

Ned shook his head. His entire body felt like it was resounding with the overloud beating of his heart, and his head was painfully full, the way it felt when he was so hyped up on adrenalin that it was hard to think.

 

All he had to do was wait until the cavalry arrived, he'd thought, but then he remembered the bright idea he'd had just after purchasing the house, to put bulletproof glass in the windows, to replace the door with a steel-cored safety version. Now that Jean was inside the impenetrable fortress, it was up to the two of them to get out of this mess.

 

He knew by the look on her face that she had nothing up her sleeve.

 

"Could he have a gun?" Jean asked Nancy, leaning his face in close to hers, so close she could probably feel his breath, and Ned had to fight hard to stay in control. She flinched back from him and didn't answer, her wide eyes on Ned, and when he tightened his grip on her Nancy swallowed and said just audibly that he might.

 

Jean nodded at him.

 

When she was in danger, when any of them were in danger, maybe because it had happened so often, they managed to function in seamless tandem, without the use of words or signals. Familiarity that five years apart hadn't been able to break, that a month of joint custody and self-recriminations hadn't been able to dispel. And there was no time for anything, no signals or blinked Morse code or mouthed words.

 

The deadness was in her eyes. She was reaching for Jean's elbow. If she pulled it down and managed to disarm him, fine; if she managed to kill herself, fine. Leaving their house with him was not an option.

 

Ned saw the policeman in his black kevlar vest and ballcap, with the laser sighting on his gun, visible through the kitchen window.

 

He shook his head at all of them, but his eyes were on Nancy. Her hands stilled but did not reverse their course.

__

_faint_, he thought.

 

She blinked. He put his hand behind his back, Jean's grip tightened, the policeman took aim.

 

Nancy closed her eyes and let herself fall.

 

The sound of the gunshot was deafening.

 

\--

 

Simultaneous, as well.

 

The weight of Nancy on his arm pulled Jean's aim, and when he pulled the trigger the bullet struck the wall near the ceiling instead of Nancy's chin. The two shots Ned fired punched neatly through Jean's neck and his right eye, and before Nancy's knees had struck the floor Jean was dead and she had pulled his corpse down with her.

 

The roaring in Ned's head reached its highest pitch and began to recede as he walked over to the graceless bundle of warm flesh that had been human and pulled it off his wife, who had released a single scream in the few heartbeats' worth of time. What was left of Jean's head released a warm gout of blood that flooded over Nancy, and she let out a low horrified groan, her eyes wide and staring.

 

He lifted her to her feet, and she buried her face against his chest, smearing blood over the grey fabric. The policeman at the kitchen window was jarring the glass with repeated impacts from the butt of his gun, trying to get inside. Ned managed to half-stumble and half-drag Nancy to the front door, where he snicked back the lock and let the force behind the pounding knock inside.

 

She laughed then, suddenly, hysteria at the edge of it, and he lost his grip and collapsed with her against the wall next to the door, she was in his lap, her fingers dug into his shirt at the shoulders, his vision blurring into the marching black legs of the unnecessary hostage rescue team as they cleared the house.

 

\--

 

She looked like she'd been up all night.

 

She also looked like an older version of Carrie on prom night. He'd made an effort at cleaning her face, but her hair was matted red with blood, it was in the curves of her left ear, and her eyes were wild, never staying on one thing for more than a minute or two. After a cursory check that confirmed what he'd thought, that she was in shock, and what he hadn't, that the nurse said he had a milder case but one nonetheless, he had loaded her into the car, away from the flashbulbs and the news cameras and the police going over the scene, loading the body bag. He called his parents with the brief message that they were fine, they would be at his hotel overnight, and Hannah could take the kids if they couldn't stay through the night.

 

Then he turned his cell off.

 

The clerk's mouth fell open at the sight of her. Her teeth were chattering, and most of her weight was against his arm as he led her to the elevator, up to his floor, into where he'd lived without her. The bed was made, plenty of fresh towels were in the bathroom. He unplugged the phone.

 

She didn't make any response when he started taking her clothes off. He put her carefully sitting, facing him, on the lip of the tub, stripped off his own clothes, and started the shower running.

 

"How did we get here," she asked thickly. Her hands rose to her hair, and she winced as she tried to pull a hand through it.

 

"We came in my car," he said, taking her arm again, until she rose to unsteady feet at his side.

 

She climbed in easily enough. He was tired, so incredibly tired, all the adrenaline having drained out of him hours before. She was speechless. He washed her hair, gently, three times, the drain running red with it, he went over the inner curves of her ear with a washcloth and the tip of his trembling finger, he traced the line of her cheek and her shoulder blades looking for more of it. When he was finished with her and was standing under the shower head, his face tilted back so the water fell against his scalp, eyes closed, he felt Nancy put her arms around him, lean her face against his chest. He slipped his arms around her and felt her tremble with sobs against him.

 

They stayed that way until the pads of their fingers were wrinkled and waterlogged, swaying softly, and when he turned off the water she clambered over the lip of the tub, pushed up the lid of the toilet, and sank to her knees, retching. Tears stood in her eyes when she finally stopped, and looked over at him, shivering on the cold tile floor.

 

"He's gone?" she breathed.

 

Her husband nodded.

 

\--

 

She had never been so afraid in her life.

 

Ned didn't look upset enough. And he was stalling for time. She knew that, just like she knew he was hiding something from her, but she couldn't figure it out. Nothing had been amiss when she'd walked in, nothing to tip her off, and she hadn't even had enough time to scream before he'd grabbed her.

 

She swallowed against her dry throat and it spasmed, and she almost coughed, but the weight of his arm against her collarbone helped stifle the urge. She didn't want to upset Jean. In fact, a great deal of her mind was occupied by simply ignoring the fact that she could feel his breath against the curve of her ear

 

(again)

 

and she could feel the slow, steady beat of his heart against her back, and the feeling of terror those mere facts raised in her. Being so close to him was the panic, the frenzy that the nightmares he had given her caused deep in her chest, times a thousand, so total and consuming that very little seemed to make sense.

 

Except she knew, somehow, that Ned's presence was the only thing keeping her from losing it completely. Dashing under Jean's arm, finding something sharp and just ending it.

 

"Ned—"

 

"Shh," came his reply.

 

Her chest was tight with terror as she opened her eyes to their dark hotel room. She was wearing some of his clothes but didn't remember putting them on. Loose t-shirt and thin cotton boxers.

 

He'd made her take the tranquilizing pills the nurse had given her, and she'd held her fingertips over his chest, the vibration of his speeding heart against her skin as he took a half-dose and talked her into laying down. She had laughed but hadn't been able to form the words matching her black amusement,_ like we're making a suicide pact_—

 

Oh God, it hadn't been a nightmare, it hadn't—

 

She drew in a breath sharply and his arm tightened over her, pulling her to his side. "Nan, shhh, shhh, it's over," he whispered, pushing her hair back, the stubble on his cheek rough against her skin.

 

"You killed him?" The tears she thought she'd run dry of were welling up again, nudging her voice up a pitch, making it waver, and she hated the sound but she couldn't stop it.

 

She could feel him nodding. "Yeah," he breathed.

 

"Because he was going to hurt me."

 

"Yeah," he whispered. He pushed his hand in wide smooth circles over her back, until her breathing was slow and even.

 

She rolled over and he nestled her to him, her back to his front, put his left arm over her and rested his hand on her stomach. She put her hand over his, felt the ring back on his finger, and fell asleep with a smile on her face.

 

\--

 

Ned was packing the next morning when his cell phone rang.

 

Nancy was in the bathroom. Ned didn't recognize the number, so he silenced his phone until the voicemail would pick up.

 

Thirty seconds later he received a text message from the same number, telling him to answer his phone.

 

He picked it up this time, silencing his ring on its first tone. "Who is this?" he asked.

 

"You have twenty-four hours to tell her."

 

Ned flushed and found himself unable to speak.

 

"If you don't, I will."

 

He pulled the phone away from his ear, the call ended. All he knew was the voice hadn't been Danielle's. Not that Danielle ever would have done such a thing.

 

He wondered if Nancy could trace the number for him, then laughed harshly. There was no more effective way of committing suicide, than to have his wife find the number of the person who could tell her—

__

_Tell her what, exactly_, some part of him asked. _That Danielle kissed you? That you two are friends?_

 

But he didn't believe that. Danielle didn't believe it.

 

And more importantly, Nancy wouldn't believe it. Because he had to tell her. He had a feeling the voice on the other end of the phone wouldn't stand for any excuses or justification.

 

Save the deeper, more important lesson, that he would consider leaving his wife to the mercy of those he could not fight.

 

Nancy opened the bathroom door. "Ready?" she asked, wide smile, the happiness in her eyes unmistakable.

 

Ned forced a smile, his heart sinking. "Sure thing," he replied.

 

\--

 

The kitchen had been cleaned when they arrived. The countertop had been a red nightmare, blood had been seeping into the pile carpeting, but all that was left was a suggestion of dampness and darkness in the carpet next to the kitchen. The bullet hole left in the wall by Jean's unintentional shot had been covered over.

 

Twenty-four hours. "Hey, let's go out to dinner tonight," he suggested, keeping his hands at his sides with an effort. Normally he'd be all over her, flirting with her, touching her cheek, brushing her hair back, but maybe she'd remember that later with fire in her eyes. He fought the urge to go buy a bottle of vodka, wine, rum, something, pour it down her throat, pour his heart out to her and beg her for forgiveness while she was too inebriated to realize what he was doing or deny him.

 

"Okay," she agreed, looking up into his eyes.

 

He realized that he wanted very badly to kiss her.

 

Hannah brought their children back from his parents. To distract himself from doing anything she would make him regret, he took the babies upstairs, put them into their cribs, gazed down at their faces. They were calm. They had been fussy, angry, unable to be consoled for the longest time.

 

Since he'd left.

 

He heard his cell phone, but it was distant.

 

Then he heard the house phone ring.

 

His heart dropped to his feet. By the time he had pounded down the stairs, Nancy was staring blankly through the French doors, in the direction of her garden, tears standing in her eyes, telephone in her hand.

 

"Danielle called for you," Nancy said, her voice trembling.

 

Then she threw the phone so hard that it shattered on the linoleum of their kitchen floor.


	11. Chapter 11

"He's going to find out where you are."

 

Nate had said the words with no sense of urgency or fear, over dinner one night. The kind of dinner, the spread, the presence of another male at the table, she felt a slow burn spread just under her ribs at remembering when such a thing was possible for her, wondering if it ever would be again.

 

Nate had not asked questions about specifically why Nancy was in their guest room, but from the veiled glances she caught between Bess and her husband, Nancy knew the reason had been passed on.

 

She knew she had reacted badly. But there was no good way to react; she could think of no other course than the one she had taken, to leave her with face or any sense of self-worth.

__

_"We kissed."_

 

The anger, the hypocritical anger; he had seen her, locked in another's embrace, exposed and listless, the circumstantial evidence so damning she could barely even think of it. But she, blameless, disdained, had been left with wall after icy wall he had slammed against her. Not now. Not this on top of the support he had taken from her, the children he had taken from her, the grief welled up so deep she could never touch the bottom.

 

She had taken the children back from him, the suitcases she had so hastily packed, and hours later with her feet just beneath the covers, knees tucked to her chest, eyes glazed with damning tears, she had sobbed over the russet silk she had wanted to wear for him. Her children wailed with her, the three of them with angry red-blotched faces keening together, and she had gathered them to her chest and wept. Wept safe in Bess's house, among the pale castoffs and faded rugs.

 

Oh God, the taste was so bitter, the faith, it had been so easy to look the other way after seeing the hurt in his eyes, the hurt she couldn't bear to deepen, only to find...

 

"Oh God," she gasped, and Helene had wailed in her arms

__

_love would be dead in me_

 

Ned's face when Jean's arm had been around her throat, a part of her had chosen death over the oblivion that would be his embrace

 

the way he had trembled when rinsing the blood off her skin, the hours later, speechless and drawn tired

 

He had not touched her with such intent in four months. The slow erosion of her resistance had begun before then, the horror of the doctor's slow voice as he had traced the lines of her fall, the way it had been stopped, cauterized, by Ned's leaving.

 

"I know he'll find me," she replied to Nate.

 

"What do you want us to do when he does?"

 

\--

 

"Maybe this is all for the best."

 

Ned brought the glass to his lips and took a long, determined sip, draining it and bringing it back down to the countertop with an uneven click. He was alone; Hannah had taken Amy back to her parents for the school year and was elsewhere, in her shiny metal trailer, having dispensed all the wisdom and goodwill she could to him before she'd departed. She was one who had never claimed that any of their separations had been for the best, and she had believed from the beginning that they would end up together. But the comfort granted by her certainty had faded.

 

He looked around the house; the house was Nancy's, he had given it to her with no rancor, had never thought himself able or willing to set foot in it again. But he had found the bloodstain, dark and camouflaged in the shadow of their island, and the house had been baptized, exorcised of its demon.

 

And he had given her another.

 

Clear gleaming curves of ice remained in the bottom of his glass. He refreshed it with a few more cubes and sloshed more liquid in, wanting to drown the ice, but found it impossible to outrun.

 

Maybe if he called Danielle he could get her to explain...

 

And despite the alcohol he remembered the look in her eyes, on her face, when she had pulled back, her pale skin flushed with excitement, and knew that whatever explanation Danielle could possibly give, Nancy would never hear.

 

Their children. She had taken their children. Hana and Helene in her arms, and he knew how it was to look down at them and remember and wish so bitterly to forget.

 

She had his number blocked. He knew that. Desperation welled in his throat, black and thin. She had to understand. He had to make her understand. But she would not see him. And he didn't want to wait until her anger had cooled, hardened into a pallid forgiveness for his crimes that allowed him no further contact with her or their children. He had already given her a week; he was afraid to give her any more.

 

"I didn't," he whispered, his voice rough and slight, and took another sip. Then he dug out his cell phone.

 

He knew where he would go, were he her. He called George and eliminated her as a possibility, then capped the bottle and stared blankly at the television, waiting. The night faded into crickets and fireflies. He took a shower, cold, remembering her face in shadow beneath his palms, and after that every single inch of their house was a living invisible snapshot of her laughing, crying, screaming at him, screaming under him, everything, and he slammed it out of his mind as he toweled off and dressed in grey.

__

_i won't mourn you_

 

The silver Jag gleamed in the moonlight as he abandoned it in the elementary school parking lot and jogged the few blocks left, intoxication burning off with every step he slammed into the pavement. The bedroom window was dark, as was the porch light, but he didn't want to risk a walk around to find Nancy's window.

 

Her car was in the garage. _For someone who used to be a PI..._

 

Ned stopped the thought and retreated cautiously. None of the telltale signs; no silver wires gleaming at their windows, no keypad gleaming silent sentinel at the front door. He had scoped Bess's house out before, and found it unchanged.

__

_Best way to do it is act like you own the place_. He took a slow breath and walked up to their front door.

 

Two choices for the room they had put her in. One door had a light escaping from underneath, and his heart sank as he gently twisted the knob and opened the door of the darker room. No shallow even breath greeted him, no warm confusion of human occupancy. He snicked the door shut again, then turned to the lit room. If she had locked it, a good kick at knob-height would break the lock, but alert everyone in the house. He rested his fingertips on the knob for a minute, then closed his eyes and twisted it by slow degrees, waiting for some noise or indication that he had been too careless.

 

The light shone from a reading lamp beside her bed. Their children were peaceful and quiet in the crib beside him, but he afforded them only a glance before looking over.

 

And meeting her blue eyes.

 

He had only a second to register the faint pink of the skin, swollen around her eyes, before the book in her lap dropped. Ned pulled the door closed behind him and leapt across the room as her lips pulled back from her teeth in a snarl, her hand darting under her pillow and coming back wrapped around gleaming metal. She drew a breath and he snaked his left hand under her grasp and pressed it firmly against her mouth, keeping the scream in her throat. She drew her knees up and kicked him away, her breath hot against his fingers, the awkward grip so hard to maintain that he fell back, watching her pant. She had flicked the knife over his sleeve and he felt a hot thread of stinging pain over his bicep.

 

He lost his balance and grabbed her foot, so quick she couldn't kick him away, and they fell off the bed together in an audible crash. One of the girls drew breath in a keening wail as Nancy scissor-kicked her husband in the solar plexus, his breath rushing out in a terrible gust, but he pushed himself off the floor and onto her, scrabbling for purchase, her scalp pressed hard against the nightstand, fire in her eyes, her face scarlet as they wrestled.

 

"Don't scream," he said, managing only a whisper, nursing his sore stomach.

 

She drew her legs up but he planted his knees on her stomach and she winced, and he remembered how recently she had given birth. He slipped off so his legs were against her waist, his knees planted on either side, and she lashed up with the knife. He grabbed her hand but could not force her to release it, and they stayed that way, locked together, panting. A red mark was already fading into a bruise on her forehead. He felt something drip to his elbow.

 

She sucked in a swift breath again but managed only a squeak that carried little above the wail of their daughter as he cut her off again. She looked away for a minute and he narrowed his eyes, then yelped as she bit into his palm, drawing blood. When he was off balance, his grip having lessened slightly, she swung her arm around in an arc, caught a handful of his hair in her hand, and he swayed to the side with the force of her weight before he caught himself. She shoved his other shoulder, and he retreated under the point of her knife. The back of his head slammed against the floor and he groaned, Nancy's knees planted on his inner thighs, the knife at his throat. She was breathing heavily, and she tossed her hair back from her glowing face.

 

Their daughter caught the movement and her gasping howls trailed off to uncertain cries.

 

Ned brought his feet together, still in heavy-soled shoes, as she opened her mouth again. He grasped her wrists, forcing the knife away from his skin, folding his body double as his joined feet hit her squarely in the spine, just beneath her shoulder blades. He held their hands up in the air as she flew over him and her legs crashed into a dresser, and she let out a soft hiss of pain. Her fingers shifted the knife in her grasp and he saw it just above his face, tip downward, and drew her hands down in an arc, bashing them against the metal foot of the bed until she cried out in pain and dropped the knife onto the carpet.

 

"We need to talk," he panted, just as the door of the bedroom was hesitantly pushed open, Nate and Bess framed against the darkness. A ceramic snowman was claimed by gravity and fell from the dresser onto the floor, sending Hana into a fresh set of anguished cries.

 

\--

 

Ned waited on the front porch, safely out of the angry gazes of the three adults. He had wanted to bring the children with him, but Bess had forbid it, her cheeks hot in an authoritative glow of anger; so he had placed Hana back in the crib, his arm still smarting from the wound, a knot forming on the back of his head, and walked out to the front porch, his head hanging.

 

He had no guarantee that she would even grant him an audience, other than the swiftly fading hope he didn't dare to fan, still glowing faintly in him. He tortured himself with the memory of her eyes, the fierce anger, her cries of pain at his hand.

 

The living room light had long been out when he heard the soft creak of floorboards. Nancy walked out in her thin cotton nightshirt, a bandage showing dimly on her right hand. Her arms were wrapped tight around her chest just under her breasts, and she was looking everywhere but to his eyes.

 

"I don't have a damn thing to say to you and you've said about all you need to to me."

 

Ned stayed silent, watching the impossibly hard line of her jaw as she waited for him to open his mouth so she could slam him back down. Her eyes met his and his heart sank at the anger there before she looked away.

 

"We can work out custody later," she said, but her voice was far from casual. She tilted her head back and he recognized the gesture, saw the minute trembling in the dismissing wave.

 

There were no words, and he knew that. He pushed himself carefully out of the porch swing and approached her, expecting and accepting the retreat, her bare feet sliding backwards over the slats until her back was against the safety of her best friend's front door. Fire and ice, the reddish blond hair curling over her shoulders in a soft flip, the sparking blue of her contemptuous recovered gaze.

 

"What the hell do you think you can say to me," she said, the edge of her voice cracking, and he recognized the sound of it, the fierce malformed hope that it had all been a terrible terrible bad dream, but the bitter taste in the mouth to belie it.

 

He leaned toward her and she pushed him back, fists beating against his chest, the dull soft thud and burst of pain with each one. Her wounds were bandaged, but he could feel the tearing heat of the wound with each flex of his arm. He forced her arms to her sides and she broke his hold, panting, glaring.

 

Something soft. Something understanding. Something he would have been forced to listen to during those terrible nights in the hotel room when he just wanted it all to be a bad dream.

 

"I hate you for this," he heard, in his own voice, coming out of his own mouth, his breath hot and rushed, and was horrified at its vehemence, and the truth. "I hate you for making me come back here and crawl on my hands and knees for something I didn't do—"

 

"Now you know how it fucking feels," she returned, tears brimming on her lower lashes.

 

He leaned in close and she tensed, backing away from him, but finding no outlet. He curled his fingers around her hair and felt her scrabble for the doorknob, to let herself in to safety, but forced her head back, feeling hearing the decisive dull crunch of her skull against the wood panels.

 

"Shut up," he hissed, brown eyes gleaming dangerously. She curved her fingers into claws and batted at his hand, but he just forced her head back further, her spine arching her body against his as his grip tightened on the silk strands of her hair. She moved as though burned by his touch, but found nowhere to go. The movement barely registered as she stretched her arms and brought them in swiftly to either side of his head, and he ducked his head forward to her shoulder, feeling the soft hitching gasps of her breath as she tried to crush his throat between her palms, in desperate short blows that winded him.

 

He jerked her head back again and she cried out in pain, her blows softening. Before they could redouble he knocked her off balance, cradling the base of her skull in his hand as they both thudded to a painful stop on the porch. He could feel the bones in his hand yield at her weight, but she cried out in rage and frustration as he jerked his hand from underneath her head, batted back her arms, pinned her legs beneath him and her wrists above her head. His face smarted at the feel of the night air, from her barely connected blows.

 

She writhed for a second, panting, then licked her lips, a wicked grin on them. "What, you want to—"

 

He didn't know if he heard the word, if he felt it, if she had even meant to complete the sentence with that terrible reference, but the next thing he knew he was pulling his hand back to slap her, and she was breaking his grasp, her hands darting up in a flash to cup his temples and drive the balls of her thumbs against his eyelids. He leaned back out of her grasp and pushed his knees into the yield of her flesh, her startled intake of breath harsh in the darkness, his hand trembling at the realization of what he had done and what he still wanted to do.

 

"I hate you," she rasped, her entire body tensing underneath him, and he was pinpoint alert before she released in a sob that shook her frame, great wrenching cries that poured out of her, her face wet and flushed, her arms still flailing at him in halfhearted blows that he deflected absently. He rolled off her and she drew her limbs into a ball, shrinking away from his concerned touch, forcing the heels of her hands against her eyes as though she could stifle and reverse her tears.

 

"I hate you too," he said, and he caught the involuntary twitch of her lips at that before she launched herself up into sitting and rammed her fists into his torso again. He accepted it this time, without moving, until his skin screamed, and then he picked her up, his fingernails biting crescents into her skin, and pulled her into his embrace. She was gasping, gulping noisily for air, trembling under the shirt.

 

"I didn't tell you about her because I was going to leave you for her, I told you because I thought it was only fair that you knew," he said, his hand on her hair, stroking it and tensed to force her head back onto his shoulder to lessen a further onslaught. "I thought you were with him, I thought you had just as much left me, and damn if I didn't feel a thousand miles away from you."

 

"I can't," she mumbled, rubbing at her eyes again. Her fists slipped wetly over her cheeks. "You were with her," she said, losing control at the very end of it, her voice slipping up into an anguished cry.

 

"Nan," he breathed. "Oh God, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

 

"You should be," she blazed, her breath hitching in a hiccup at the very end. "You should get down on your hands and knees and crawl to me, because I never in a million years—"

 

"And let you beat the crap out of me," he returned, rolling his sleeve up and showing her the gleaming wound. "And fucking stab me."

 

"That's not a stab," she replied, looking at it instead of his eyes. She touched the red, puckered edge of it, and he shrank back. "That was a miss."

 

"Yeah, right," he replied, "whatever."

 

She met his eyes. "Does it hurt?"

 

"What doesn't?" he whispered, holding her gaze. "I want us to be even. I want us to be back at zero again."

 

"How can we?"

 

"Just say it."

 

"You think I can forget you leaving?" She squirmed, trying to struggle out of his embrace, and her eyes flared as he prevented her. "Go to hell."

 

His arm swung up before he realized what he was doing, the hot dark trembling anguish of his rage boiling up into his limbs, and he managed to lessen the blow at the last second, so that he caught her solidly across the forehead and forced her head against the wall of the house. She made some choked noise, swallowed, and glared fire at him.

 

"I thought we were okay right before you left," he murmured, half to himself. "Not great, but okay."

__

_russet silk_

 

She closed her eyes and shook her head slightly, and he caught the movement. "Give me a minute," she said, and pushed herself up again.

 

He tightened his grip on her. "To do what?"

 

"Just give me a minute," she said, tired and sad, and he released her. Her nightshirt hung off one shoulder, her face flushed with exertion, and he watched her go. She shot him one last, vaguely reassuring, blank glance before vanishing back into the house.

 

\--

 

Unfamiliar slippers.

 

"The babies are asleep."

 

He nodded, filing the words away to be translated later, still staring at her feet. Terrycloth mules he had never seen before. They slipped along the sidewalk, her steps slow with exhaustion.

 

"I don't want to think," she said. "Just don't let me think, okay?"

 

He nodded another meaningless assent, their entangled numb fingers dropping apart as she caught sight of his car. They climbed inside, her black trenchcoat flapping against the wind.

 

He felt drained, defeated but alert, as though allowing her to go back inside the house without giving him an answer had given her time to construct walls against him again, though their joined hands and her asking to go back to his car had made him feel a little better.

 

Their children sleeping in borrowed anonymous rooms, because of Jean, because of his own stupidity.

 

He buried his face in his hands and took a slow, shuddering breath, then turned his face and caught his wife staring at him. Her arm was draped casually along the line of the passenger door, as though they were going for an afternoon drive and she was just waiting for him to start the car. He reached into his pocket and found the keys, but she stopped the arc his hand described on the way to the ignition and let them drop from his nerveless fingers into the floorboard.

 

The coat gapped open, silk stretched taut over her curves, blood red in the shadows.

 

She had changed clothes.

 

Her refrain, her wish, sounded soft in his head as he pressed his fingertips against her hand, as he reached over for her face, for the first time in the past few hours to do something other than hit her or force her into brief submission. She leaned into his touch, into the palm he cupped around her cheek, then shrugged out of the coat, her arms pale in the dark.

 

He exhaled slowly as she leaned toward his seat and tugged at the hem of his shirt, pulling it up over his head and discarding it without breaking his gaze. His flesh was tender and shrank briefly from the touch of her fingers in an unaccustomed caress, but she perched and swung herself over the gearshift, her knees on either side of his hips, her eyes wide and searching his, her breath warming his skin. For a second they lingered in that state, motionless, her tender thighs around his hips, her back braced on the steering wheel. Nancy had given all she could and was unable to find the impetus in her to move or breathe or do anything other than stare at him, will him...

 

He kissed her.

 

The action was hard and violent, reclaiming her after far too long a delay, far too serious an interruption. He reached down, sliding his palms up her thighs, fingertips not meeting the expected interruption of a silk string over her skin, finding only smooth flesh. Four months or more he'd waited. Naked under a flutter of silk. He wanted to be naked too. Wanted to tug her forward until their hips were flush seamless together, her gasps of pleasure over the pain, broken skin and rended flesh and bruised ribs and the flush of their skin meeting numbing the sting and slow ache of his wounds. He wanted another kind of slow ache, pulling her in tight, the only thing between them air and stupid cloth, why was he wearing pants, their mouths wet and gasping softly in pressed rough kisses as

 

Her elbow pressed the car horn.

 

The car emitted a brief blaring cry and she jerked toward him as though burned by his leather wrapped steering wheel. He forgot his wretched clothing as she drew a breath, then shook in gales of laughter, edged in a panicked hysteria. He took her face in his hands, her hips settling back in familiar movement against his, as he kissed her again, and the laughter subsided, drowning in the touch of his mouth. He closed his eyes and pressed his lips against the point of her jaw.

 

"Let me take you home," he breathed into her skin, and felt her nod.

 

The streets were deserted as he wound his way through the suburbs of Chicago, between the sleeping houses and stilled miniature bicycles and the toys discarded when the children were called in to dinner. Nancy traced their lines with her eyes and missed their babies in a way she had never allowed herself to do while he had had them, when they were apart. She didn't feel anything like forgiveness in her, because forgiveness meant acceptance, and all she felt was a tired wish to go home. Home meant their house, home meant him, home meant their children, and she would have two out of the three.

 

And she could scream as loud as she wanted with the babies safe several hundred houses away.

__

_don't think_

 

He raced the engine and she caught the look of satisfaction that crossed his slightly swollen lip, the streetlights tracing their way over his bare torso. She stared as though she had never seen his bare skin before, eyes locked but she didn't care, feeling the unaccustomed hour, the drain of her tears, the energy she had wasted on their fight. Her head ached in a way that promised pounding pain later, and her exploring fingers found two separate knots on her scalp.

 

She had never left Bess's house. She would never be this stupid. Would never have put on the silk nightgown, splotched with her tears, would never have pulled it from where she had tossed it in a careless tangle in the lowest drawer. She was so tired; and right now she was asleep, her fingers twitching softly against Bess's borrowed pillow, not

 

in Ned's arms, lit by shafts of moonlight, her nightgown just this side of decency, her legs wrapped around his waist as he carried her inside. Her skin tingled pleasantly as she acknowledged his intent, bumping into him with every stair he climbed, the kitchen a silent witness to Jean's violent and bloody death below them. She leaned back, trusting his arms, and reached down to tug the nightgown over her head.

 

He stopped her with a wordless exhalation of breath, drawing her face forward to his as they reached the landing and stopped. She rested her back against the wall as she returned his kiss, then unhooked her legs and stood on her own two feet, feeling him lean down to slip his tongue between her lips. He kissed her hungrily, rubbing the strap of her nightgown between finger and thumb, then curving his arms around her to gather her up into his embrace.

 

"Ned," she gasped.

 

He released her quickly, thinking her in pain, but she took his hand and led him to their quiet bedroom. Door open, comforter and sheets in a tangle, and at the sight of their bed she wanted to sleep.

 

But not as much as she wanted to satisfy the ache, the longing, the interruption.

 

She reached for the hem of her gown again and he pushed her hands away again, lifted her into bed, coming to her naked and gasping and desperate. She knew by the taste of his kiss, the tremble in his fingers, the insistence of his weight. The way he drew the gown up by slow degrees, tracing spirals and slow lines over her skin, waiting for the sigh of released breath between the slow ponderous caress of his kisses. He wanted to remove it himself, relish it, toss it careless onto the floor as she lay beneath him, eyes wide and tired.

__

_i forgive you_

 

His fingers trailed over her now, his touch light as breath, her sight blurred with relieved tears as he took her unresisting legs and folded them around him, moved gently above and then inside her, her breath quick, head tilted back as far as it could into the pillows, wincing at the press of gravity against her scalp, involuntary twitch of a gasp trembling on her lips.

 

He swallowed, feeling a burst of pain as he moved the bruised muscles of his throat, eyes closed, arms shaking with unaccustomed exertion as he kept his weight off her bruised reddened skin. The air was warm and still around them, and she released an agonized groan, the length of her back one long unbroken bruise, especially where he had struck her just beneath her shoulder blades.

 

She twined her arms around his neck and pulled herself up until they were both vertical, his legs doubled underneath him, their hips flush, her face flushed, her skin tingling at the barest hint of his touch. He cupped his hands around her hips and when she did not gasp in pain he led her over him, tilted his head back to see her face above his, her hair falling over his skin as she gasped. Her lips trembled as he caught her mouth in a slow kiss, her concentration broken as she ran her fingers through his hair, cupping his head as she returned it, deep and soft. He took her knees and slowly spread them, lowering her hips to his, and she cried out, supporting her weight on his relatively unscathed shoulders as she broke off the kiss and moved over him. The bruises were meaningless flashes of easily ignored pain as he led her again, driving himself deeper, and when her cries became desperate agonized screams he pushed her back onto the mattress, her thighs open and trembling, spine arched, her fingers tracing meaningless patterns in the air.

 

He lost control, his hips grinding into hers, and they came together, her skin wet and newly tender around him from the passage of their child and spasming, and he threaded his fingers between hers as he thrust again, the tip of his nose grazing hers, their breath mingling in soft desperate gusts. She was trembling at the force of their release as he rolled off her, their hands still joined across their bare gleaming skin.

 

She turned her face towards him and watched, eyes locked, for the long moment it took him to open his eyes again. He smiled at her softly, his fingers tightening on hers.

 

"So why the hell did you have a knife?" he asked, his voice rough, a sardonic smile twisting his lips, and she chuckled before turning her face to stare up at the ceiling.

 

"How long did it take you to break in?" she countered.

 

He stifled a yawn, brought their joined hands to his lips, then kissed the back of her hand. "Not long at all," he admitted.

 

"Jean hasn't been dead that long," Nancy replied. Her lower lip trembled.

 

"Hey," he said softly, then propped himself up to look at her face, her gleaming eyes. He lowered his face to hers, kissed her lips, her chin. "I'm sorry I hurt you earlier," he said, tracing his lips over her skin in slow, tired kisses, down to her neck, listening to her shuddering breath. He traced the marks left by his knees and hands, his touch light as a sigh now, chanting "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..."

 

"I'm sorry too," she said, brushing her lips over the healing wound on his arm, the wet salt of her tears falling on his skin. He traced the ponderous curve of her swollen breasts, pushing her onto her side to face him, tangling her legs with his.

 

"I missed you," she breathed. "I miss our babies."

 

He pressed his lips against her forehead and held them there. His hand slid from the curve of her cheek down her neck, her shoulder, her arm, in a slow caress, and then he tugged the sheet up over them and curved his arm around her, over her back. "I missed you too," he breathed, inhaling her scent, rubbing the tip of his nose over her skin, his breath warm on her. "I wanted you..."

 

She reached up and cupped his face in her hands, forcing him to meet her eyes, both their gazes wet. "Say you forgive me," he breathed, scared, his eyes searching hers. "Please," his muscles tense under her touch, his grief palpable in the dark.

 

"You know I do," she murmured. "Nothing to forgive..."

 

He rolled her onto her back and kissed her, and she gasped as his tears fell on her face. She twined her arms up around his neck and stroked the back of his sore head as their lips met, over, soft, she tangled her legs up around his as he sank inside her again. He leaned back, watching her eyes flutter closed, her lips parted slightly, and tugged his pillow underneath her back to support her.

 

"Thanks," she murmured, her lashes low as he let her back down, shifting her hips under his and moaning softly. She traced her fingertips over his lips, down the solid bruise of his chest, over his sides, and when he shifted her hands dropped to the sheets, curled in soft fists, the seamless joining, her whimpered breath echoing in his ears. He closed his mouth over her shoulder, fingers curved around her hips, and she trailed her fingernails over his back. He gasped, shrank a breath away from her, then pressed so deep within her that she gasped.

 

"Not so hard," he murmured, and she stroked instead with her fingertips, her breath coming in gasping sobs as he rocked against her thighs. He rolled her over and she pushed herself up to sitting, let him recline on the pillows as she stroked her wet skin over his erection, her breasts swaying with the movement, and he reached up to cradle one, his teeth gritting with the effort of holding back, sudden tears pricking in his eyes.

 

She sighed, her breath catching in the rhythm of her movements and the slow spasms he could not yet feel, and she leaned down, pressing gentle kisses over his eyelids. She slipped her tongue between his lips, tasted him, tasted his tears, stroked his cheeks, her thighs trembling. In a sudden swift gesture she mounted him fully, hips flush against his, and rolled over with him, nodding as he joined their fingers and stretched their arms above her head, his teeth needling against her skin. She cried out at his first thrust, his quick breath warm on her face, his hands groping over her for purchase, and he gripped the headboard for support, her body swaying, legs jarred by his movement, her ankles slipped, her fingers tracing up his arms to his neck as he groaned in frustration, her thumbs sliding over his damp cheeks, her soft cries building into screams of incoherent pleading. He saw her, head tilted back, the jar of his body into hers interrupting and intensifying every cry, and he bent his knees, slipped his legs under hers and tilted the angle of her hips, and the release was exquisite, the warm flood into her throbbing center after the frenzied rock of his hips into hers, his groans of relief matching her sobs. She ran her fingers through her hair, her spine arched and supported by his suddenly trembling knees, their skin damp and tingling as she drew a full breath and opened her eyes.

 

"Ned," she murmured, drawing him down to rest his cheek in the pillow of her aching breasts, his breath coming in fits, his body fitting over and around hers as she waited, and the relief and exhaustion were almost immediate, her eyelids, she just needed to close them for a second...

 

"Love you too babe," he replied.

 

"Love you," she breathed, her eyes still closed, drawing her hand halfway over his hair, barely noticing as he drew her back to her side to face him, his skin warm and damp against hers in the dark.

 

\--

 

Her sleep was deep and dreamless, though she was aware of a distant muted ache every time she shifted, and the soft new familiarity of the naked body settling against hers after every movement. She thought for a while that maybe she was wrong, maybe the five years they had to spend apart were not over, the children had just been a dream, their Irish twins. But when she curled her fingers over the available flesh there was an answering murmur, one she could not summon the strength to answer with her own, and she sighed, content.

 

As always she woke just before the phone rang and was disoriented, wondering what it could be, when Ned's arm unexpectedly snaked out from under the covers and snagged it.

 

In her bed. They were in bed. The blood splattered nightmare in the kitchen.

 

"'Lo," he mumbled.

 

"Let me talk to Nancy," Bess said icily into Ned's ear.

 

He handed her the phone mutely and burrowed back into the pillows, letting out a groan just louder than a breath as he briefly rested weight on tender skin.

 

After she blinked herself closer to wakefulness and rubbed sleep from her eyes, Nancy carried on a conversation with Bess, mostly of half-mumbled words and soothing agreement. She hung up the phone and traced the ball of her thumb over his cheek.

 

"Damn, I got you good, didn't I," she murmured.

 

He opened his eyes, squinted for a second, then shook his head. "Don't go near a cop today," he advised her, sliding his fingertip just over the surface of her skin at her hairline. He whistled, and she winced. "That hurt?"

 

She shrugged. "The children are hungry," she replied. "And I'm so full I hurt." She rolled out of bed and out of his halfhearted lunge, found some underclothes and stepped into them. Then she stopped, hands on her hips, her skin a liberally mottled shade of pale. "You have to drive, darling," she drawled.

 

He reached for his discarded pants and pulled them on, wincing. "You're still nursing?"

 

She nodded, and the swell of her breasts was noticeable under the tight t-shirt she tugged over her bra. "Mm?"

 

"Birth control," he explained briefly, almost pulling on a wifebeater, then deciding on a white pocket t-shirt. "Bess mad at me?"

 

Nancy didn't meet his eyes. "I'll make it quick."

 

"Of course she's mad," Ned said, halfway to himself, just louder than a breath. "You thought I'd cheated on you and now she thinks I did too."

 

"I'll tell her." She walked over to him and laced her fingers between his. "I promise."

 

He kissed her, close-mouthed, then traced his lips over her cheek, over her neck. "Okay."

 

After a brief embrace she found a ballcap, wincing as she pulled it over her head, threading her hair through it.

 

\--

 

"If you don't call the police, I will."

 

Hana was tugging at the front of Nancy's shirt, nuzzling her face greedily, and Nancy shifted her weight, her arm curled under the child. Bess was nursing a cup of coffee, wearing her bathrobe, not touching the slippers Nancy had returned to her.

 

"Don't call the police," Nancy sighed. Then a smile curved her mouth. "You think I look bad, you should see him."

 

"I don't care if you beat the shit out of him, Nancy, have you looked at yourself in the mirror? Do you see the damn bruises on your face?" Nancy winced as she shifted Helene's weight and Bess caught that, too.

 

"I'll tell Carson."

 

Nancy's gaze jerked to Bess's at that remark. "Please..."

 

Bess sighed. "Even if you could make me not, Nate saw it too, and Nate's even madder than I am. He won't even come downstairs knowing Ned's out front. Why, why didn't he just talk to you?"

 

"Mostly because I pulled a knife," Nancy said.


	12. epilogue

"Can we set up a few ground rules before we go in there?"

 

September had faded into October, and they had been back together for just over a month. Danielle had also been fired a month before. Hana was six months old, and they were all packed for a week off, to be spent near the lake, regardless of whether this experiment succeeded or failed.

 

Nancy and Ned were seated in Ned's Jaguar in the parking lot of Dr. Strathman's office.

 

"You mean besides the ones we've already gone over?"

 

This was to be a dry run, because even though they were pretty sure it would work, Ned had never been the one to take Nancy under before. With Nancy's blessing Strathman had emphasized to Ned how he was not to misuse the ability to have her in that state of mind, wasn't to do anything she was uncomfortable with him doing.

 

She nodded. "I mean like you not using it as a truth detector for things you should ask me while I'm awake."

 

"Like what?"

 

She shrugged and toyed with the hem of her sweater. "Things I don't want you to ask in front of Strathman, that's why I'm telling you now."

 

"You mean like... sex?" he dropped his voice on the last one, even though she was the only one who could hear him.

 

She half-smiled. "There are things you want to ask me about sex?"

 

"Have you ever faked it for me?"

 

Nancy looked down at her hands. "Three or four times."

 

"Three or—" Ned broke off, aghast. "Why?"

 

"Because it seemed like the easiest thing to do at the time."

 

"Talk about being honest with each other... I thought you'd tell me if you..."

 

He trailed off, blushing slightly. He had no problem talking about it while alone with her in their bed, but this was public, and daylight.

 

"I mean, because what I feel— that's it, right?"

 

She nodded, smiling slightly still. "I usually don't fake because you can feel it. But sometimes, when you're drunk, or when I just can't..."

 

"You shouldn't have to fake it."

 

She reached up and touched his face. "I don't have to. But sex isn't always about the orgasm with me. Sometimes it's just having you close to me and knowing you want me. Yeah, it's not like that all the time, but it's not the end of existence for me if I don't. And when it's physically uncomfortable—"

 

"You mean when I hurt you."

 

She took his chin in her hands and turned him to face her, then held his gaze. "You don't hurt me," she said. "Physical discomfort isn't pain."

 

He appeared to shrink back from her a little. "Man, you're great for my self-esteem."

 

Nancy glanced at her watch. "And we have to go in, or we'll be late."

 

\--

 

He didn't find it at all difficult to put her under. They'd had therapy sessions where she had screamed at him, cried, threatened to hit him over the head with a chair, but that was over with now. At least, he hoped it was. The doctor monitored the first try as a favor to them, but he couldn't sit in on the real session, not once he was confident that Ned knew what to do and wouldn't cause any damage.

 

So that night Ned settled down into the papasan chair beside their bed with his wife in his arms, her head against his shoulder, and as he whispered the words to put her under her body seemed to grow heavier against his, until she was resting quietly and he was pushing her hair back from where it had fallen against her cheek. She was in an ivory sweater with a deep v-neck almost revealing the silk camisole she was wearing underneath, jeans and white socks and her reddish gold hair half pulled back from her face.

 

"Hey," he said softly, his hand still resting on her cheek.

 

"Hey," she replied, softly.

 

"Who am I?" he asked her, stroking a finger down her skin, very softly, watching her expression.

 

She smiled. "Ned," she whispered.

 

"That's right," he replied. "And you know my voice."

 

"Yes," she breathed.

 

"Do you remember Jean's voice?" Ned asked.

 

Nancy moved deeper into his embrace, so suddenly that his hand slid over her cheek, into her hair, down to her shoulder. She murmured some terrified affirmation against him.

 

Ned tilted his head down, pushed her gently back. The tears he could feel on his skin were gleaming on her cheeks. He rested his forehead against hers, tasting her breath. "He used to get inside your head like this, didn't he."

 

"Yes," she replied, her lips trembling.

 

"Who else?"

 

"Michael Delgado," she whispered.

 

"Anyone else?"

 

"The doctor," she said. "With you."

 

"Did Jean tell you he was the only one who could?"

 

"At first," she said. "And then he went away and told me the word so he could find me again."

 

"What word?"

 

She shook her head, Ned's thumbs stroking the tears from her cheeks. "I don't remember."

 

"Tell me," he whispered, leaning in close to her, his face against her cheek, his breath on her ear, and a slow shudder trembled down her spine as she gasped in a breath, lashes fluttering over her skin, eyes closed. She tilted her face and Ned found himself kissing her, the doctor's half-remembered admonishments fading at the taste of her. He pulled back, finally, his throat thick with unshed tears. "Tell me."

 

"I can't," she murmured, her wet face flushed and contorting.

 

"Please," he whispered, his thumbs stroking the wet track of her tears softly over the hollow just behind her earlobes. She fell foward heavily into his embrace and he maintained the caress, feeling the slight movement of her breath against his shoulder.

 

"You can't have me," he barely made out, her voice muffled against him. "He won't let you."

 

A rush of ice water flooded his stomach. "He's dead, baby," Ned whispered. He picked up her leaden hand and led it under his shirt, to his chest. "You feel that? You feel my heart?"

 

"Doesn't matter," she whispered.

 

"Do you love me?" he asked.

 

"Yes," she said.

 

"Then give me a way in."

 

For a long moment she didn't respond, and then she tilted her face back to his and he kissed her again, slowly, fingers tangled in her hair. Then she pulled back, gasping and breathless. She reached up, put the flat of her palm against his, wove their fingers together.

 

"Deeper," she whispered. She pulled her sweater over her head and began to struggle out of her jeans.

 

"Nan," he whispered, unsure.

 

"He would have me make you forget," she murmured, biting her lip as she pushed down her jeans. Ned stilled her hands and she tilted her head back, against his shoulder. "Let me."

 

She tugged her jeans off and then her socks, revealing polished toes, and then she straddled him and kissed him hard. She put her hands on his shoulders as he leaned into it, and then he felt her fingertip slide over the place where his neck met his right shoulder. She bent her finger and the tip of her nail bit into his skin. He shivered under her touch as she traced a line over his muscle.

 

Then another.

 

When she was finished writing the word on his skin, he broke the kiss off and stared at her. Then he leaned forward, mouth flush against her ear, and spoke it aloud. She slipped deeper into the state and he caught her as she slumped sideways, her lips slightly parted.

 

The pressure was building inside him, the pressure of having her close to him, creamy flesh and the tremble of her thighs, the silk strap sliding down the curve of her shoulder, the drowse in her gaze. He took a deep breath. "Nancy," he murmured.

 

She made a soft noise.

 

"Do you have anything else in your head? More words, more instructions, anything else?"

 

Nancy couldn't meet his eyes, her own eyelids were so heavy, but she tilted her head and tried to speak, failed, then swallowed and tried again. "You weren't supposed to be here," she said. "He— this is—"

 

She sipped in another breath and tilted backwards, and he caught her again, her head lolling, her hair casting a shadow over the curve of her cheek.

 

"You... you're safe," he stumbled, remembering Strathman's instructions. "You're safe, nothing can hurt you here..."

 

She made a soft noise that seemed to come off disbelieving.

 

He traced his thumb over her cheekbone. "Tell me."

 

"This is where he told me to leave you," she breathed. "This is where he told me to stay on the pill and wait until he came back for me."

 

"He will never be here again," Ned whispered against her cheek. "But I'm here. This is going to be our place now and we will make another password and you will be safe inside your own head, Nan."

 

She smiled, very very faintly.

 

"Do you hear my voice right now, baby?"

 

"Yes," she said slowly.

 

"I'm going to be the only one," he said. "Just me, just this voice, just these words. No one else is ever going to be inside your head again. No one. No one ever again."

 

"No one," she repeated.

 

"I'm the only one," he murmured.

 

"Yes."

 

"Anything else, anyone else... anything Jean told you—" she shuddered at the sound of his name, "anything he told you was a lie, baby. Anything. Only what you heard me and Dr. Strathman say."

 

She inhaled and nodded, slowly.

 

"I love you," he whispered.

 

"I love you too," she replied.

 

"Say the words," he whispered. "Say the words with me." He twined his fingers around hers.

 

It was after, once she was conscious again, once she was stirring and he was climbing into bed next to her. She coughed, her torso lifting off the bed with the force of it, reached up and tugged the clip out of her hair, and rolled over onto her side. He looked at her, and she was gasping for breath, loud shallow gasps, her eyes reddened.

 

"Ned."

 

She reached out for him and he leaned over her on the pillow, pushed her hair back, kissed the softly parted lips. Her arms snaked between them and she was tugging her shirt up, and when they broke she drew her silk top up over her head and tossed it over the edge of the bed.

 

"He was inside me," she keened, her voice shaking.

 

The pressure was exponential now, at the sight of her in white lace on cream skin, satin string over her hip and lace between her thighs and the warm counterpulse that trembled in the slope of her breast, the heartbeat and the undulation of her breath and the wet fringed lashes of her eyes...

 

He pushed it back and took her into his arms, hugged her hard, and she sobbed harder than she ever had, because Strathman had never been able to take her that deep (and he felt a deep sense of pride at that). She was shaking, her arms up around his neck, her leg draped over his.

 

"I love you," he whispered. "He'll never be inside you again."

 

"I love you," she whispered. "Please, please..."

 

One of her breasts had slipped out of the bra and was against his chest. Her eyes were closed, her mouth open, his kisses trailing down her neck, his hands on her shoulders, sliding down, and he loosed her bra and they struggled out of it. Another tear slid out of her eye and he traced it with his tongue, she tilted her hips back and bent her knees and he slipped into the natural valley between her thighs.

 

"Baby, do you want this," he breathed against her cheek.

 

"Yes," she whispered. She reached up and threaded her fingers through his hair. "Please."

 

She screamed when she came, because they were alone in the house together; he could feel her heels sliding against the small of his back as she moved against his thrusts. Her arms were still up around his neck, like she was afraid to let him go, and as he closed his eyes and groaned with his release he could feel her gasping underneath him, her breath on his face. The perfume of her skin was intoxicating.

 

"You," she whispered, gasping in her breath. "Only you."

 

He buried his face against her shoulder, his fingers numb against her scalp and still twined in her hair, as he began to come down. Her legs fell open limply, her heel sliding down the line of his leg, her fingertips stroking the back of his neck.

 

"Love you," he murmured into her skin.

 

"Love you," she whispered, exhaustion stealing over her as she closed her eyes.

 

\--

 

When he woke, her underwear was still in a tangle at the foot of the bed, where he'd tossed it after drawing it down her legs the night before. She was in one of his white button-downs, cuffs loose, hands wrapped around a mug of coffee, as she looked out through the mesh curtains. His gaze traced down the smooth curve at the back of her leg, as he pushed himself up on his elbows, the sheet pooling at his waist.

 

"Hey," he murmured.

 

She turned and smiled at him, then put her coffee cup on the nightstand and climbed back into bed with him. She leaned down and kissed him, and he closed his eyes at the feel of her hair as it brushed over his skin.

 

"You ready to go?" he asked as she broke off.

 

She led his hands up to the collar of his own shirt, and his fingers slipped underneath, to the warmth of her neck, down as he loosed every button, and she kicked under the covers, skin to skin. She pressed her lips against the side of his neck, slow soft kiss, and he slid his hands underneath the shirt to rest against the small of her back.

 

"In a minute," she whispered.

 

"In a minute," he replied, reaching up to cup her face, tilting his face back to kiss her.

 

The makeup she put on was amazing. No more puffy discolored skin around her eyes, she looked fresh and rested and glowing. She pressed her fingertips against the passenger window, the glass cool from the fall wind, and he smiled to himself as he pulled into his parents' driveway.

 

\--

 

Helene, as though sensing her parents' eyes on her, gave a last halfhearted kick at the brightly colored toy hanging over her before falling asleep. The excitement of seeing her parents again after a night at her grandparents' had been enough to keep her awake for the car ride, but not for much longer after Ned had put her down in the playpen standing in their bedroom.

 

Nancy lifted herself off the bed, leaned over to check on Hana, and then settled back down, her arm over Ned's waist. He smiled to himself.

 

"Don't wanna go," he mumbled, voice muffled as he pressed his face against Nancy's shoulder.

 

"Then don't," she told him softly, fingers plucking gently at the shirt over his back. "Tell your boss I tied you to the bed and wouldn't let you go."

 

He smiled and made the same response she had, that his boss probably wouldn't go for that, but added that he probably would insist upon videotape.

 

"Do you have to go?" she asked him softly, and the plaintive vulnerable sound of it was enough to make his heart beat painfully in his chest. He brushed her hair back from her cheek and nodded, his fingertips resting at her ear.

 

"At least for a few hours," he murmured. "I have to finish a few things up so I can stay here with you for a week and not get calls every day asking what to do."

 

"You're that important?" She was drowsing, her eyelashes curled as they brushed her cheeks, her voice low and soft.

 

He smiled. "I'm that important," he replied.

 

"Good," she said, but after she fell asleep and he tried to extract himself from her embrace, she still wouldn't let go.

 

\--

 

Ned tried to close the door quietly the next morning, but Nancy woke to a mewling cry that sounded from the other side of their bedroom door. The cry wasn't repeated, so Nancy kicked off the covers and walked to the bathroom naked instead of pulling on a robe and tending to the child just yet.

 

The night before, she and Ned had reaffirmed several times that he was quite aware of the real thing, especially when he caused it.

 

Helene was still asleep but Hana, already six months old and gorgeous, was awake when Nancy checked on her daughters. She picked up Hana and made a nest for her out of cushions and pillows on the living room floor before going to the kitchen to start on breakfast.

 

She scowled in annoyance as she saw the round table. Ned had left his coat on top of it when he had come home the night before. She picked it up to hang it in the closet, and saw the stack of mail underneath.

 

"Nice," she muttered. She cracked some eggs into a bowl and scrambled them, and then Helene woke up and started howling. She turned the stove off so the butter wouldn't burn, poured herself a cup of the decaf that had just finished brewing, and brought Helene in the kitchen to nurse while she went over the mail.

 

That was how Ned found her, after he'd finished his morning run and came back into their cabin, still breathing heavily, his skin gleaming with sweat. Nancy was seated at the table with their daughter in her arms, her robe belted loosely around her, looking down at a plain white envelope in her hands.

 

She met his eyes and whatever greeting he was about to mutter died on his lips.

 

"I'm pregnant," she told him, in a low voice. "I took the test this morning."

 

He was quiet for a minute. "I thought," he said, gesturing at her and the child in her arms, and a half-smile quirked her lips.

 

"Maybe nursing isn't effective when you're doing it three or four times a day."

 

"How far?" he asked.

 

She shrugged, and tossed her long reddish-blonde hair over her shoulder. "Not long," she replied.

 

Then she tossed him the envelope in her hands.

 

He recognized it from the night before, when he'd gone through the mail; it was addressed to Nancy, her married name, no return address, their home address computer printed onto the envelope. The flap was ragged where Nancy had torn it open; he flipped it back and took out the piece of paper inside.

 

Then he fell into the chair opposite her, staring at it.

 

"Marriage certificate," he said, his voice strained, and out of the corner of his eye he saw her nod.

 

Their first marriage certificate, signed by them both and witnessed, the piece of paper Nancy's father had demanded as proof that Ned had married his daughter on a moonlit beach the year she was nineteen. The absence of which had allowed that marriage to be treated as a meaningless youthful mistake.

 

"How," he asked, flipping over the envelope, studying the paper, but there were no hints, no return addresses, no explanations.

 

"I don't know," she replied. "But I think we've finally won." 


End file.
